Dyslexic Heart
by trixietru
Summary: Sequel to "Murder by Something Something". Shawn has never been good at following rules, not even the ones he makes for himself.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Dyslexic Heart

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Sequel to "Murder by Something Something". Shawn has never been good at following rules, not even the ones he makes for himself.

Author's Note: This starts immediately before "Any Given Friday at 10 PM, 9 PM Central". Familiarity with all of the episodes from the end of S3 through the first half of S4 is probably necessary to follow what's going on, as I used the episodes as a jumping off point for the events of the story. Think of it as a lot of post-episode fanfics strung together.

It should probably go without saying that reading "Murder by Something Something" first is also necessary, as none of Lassiter and Shawn's interactions will make any sense without knowing what happened between them in that story.

This is still a WIP, but I'm finally starting to see the end in sight, so I thought I'd try posting one chapter a week until it's finished. You're getting two chapters this week because the first has been up at my livejournal for over a month!

Title is from the Paul Westerburg song of the same name.

Do I love you?  
Do I hate you?  
I've got a dyslexic heart.

Special thanks to the Psych writers for making it canon that Lassiter is amazing in bed!

Lassiter had been worried that it would be awkward the next time he saw Spencer after the events of the Harrison Griffin case, so it was almost a relief that it was merely annoying instead.

Well, in actuality, it was the second time he had seen Spencer since then; the first had been at Claire Collins's funeral, when he had caught a glimpse of Shawn sitting in the back of the chapel where the service was held. They hadn't spoken, and in fact, Lassiter wasn't even certain that Shawn had seen him.

So this, a little less than a week later, was the first time he had really seen Shawn since they had shared what could only be described as an extremely ill-advised sexual encounter in a seedy motel room. It was disturbing that he felt a surge of pleasure at the sound of Shawn's voice, but comfortingly familiar that what the voice was saying was just as ridiculous as usual.

"…I knew that Lassie and I were dead meat if I couldn't stop Griffin somehow, and that I only had one chance to save us. So I summoned all of my formidable psychic powers and sent a message to my own personal Magic Head."

Lassiter turned the corner in the police station to see Spencer sitting on the corner of his desk, Gus at his side, holding a small group of uniform officers spellbound.

"As many of you know," he continued, "Gus and I share a special bond that, during times of great stress, I can call on for assistance."

Gus nodded sagely. "I was eating brunch in San Francisco with my sister when I head Shawn screaming for help in my head."

Shawn frowned. "I wasn't _screaming_, Gus. It was more of a manly bellow for assistance."

"Whatever, Shawn. Either way, I knew that I had to call immediately."

"When my phone rang, I psychically signaled Detective Lassiter to let him know that this was our chance, and he heroically tackled Griffin. It was an amazing display of psychic teamwork. Hey look folks, there he is now. How about a hand for our Head Detective?"

The officers applauded politely as Lassiter stalked towards them. "All right children, storytime is over," he barked at them, "get back to work." Everyone scattered as he came to a stop in front of Shawn and Gus. "Get off my desk, Spencer."

Shawn just smirked at him. "But Lassie, I was about to tell them about how mine and Gus's strength combined with yours to create an unstoppable crime-fighting machine that brought an end to Griffin's reign of terror."

Lassiter sighed. "Is there a reason you're here?"

"I just wanted to visit my favorite detective," Shawn said solemnly, then leaning over to look past Lassiter, crooned "Hiiiiiii Jules."

"Hi Shawn, hi Gus," she said politely, not moving from her spot seated behind her desk.

"The Chief called us down here to sign some paperwork," Gus said.

"Great. Go do that," Lassiter said, making "run along now" gestures with his hand.

Shawn hopped off of his desk and Lassiter took a step back, unwilling to even accidentally come into contact with him, but he didn't miss the slight wince that crossed Shawn's face as he bounced to his feet.

"How's your arm?" he asked, before he could stop the question from escaping.

Shawn shrugged, which caused him to wince again. "It's okay. The stitches come out tomorrow. How's that black eye feel? It makes you look very tough-guy, like Harrison Ford at the end of _Raiders_."

At the reminder, Lassiter touched the bruise around his eye gingerly. "It's fine. I only remember it when I look in the mirror."

"Hey, do you have bruises from hitting the water? Like, even my bruises have bruises."

Lassiter nodded. "Yeah, a couple of days ago I was so sore I could barely…" he trailed off, aware that Gus was looking at him oddly, and while he emphatically did not believe in psychic powers, he was certain that O'Hara was giving him the same look from her desk. "Never mind," he said sternly. "I have work to do. Go."

"Fine," Shawn said, with a theatrical sigh. "Try not to miss me too much, Lassie. Byyyyyyeeee Jules," he added, looking over at Juliet again.

"Bye, Shawn," she said, with barely concealed amusement.

After the terrible twosome had disappeared into the Chief's office, Lassiter sat down at his desk and tried to concentrate on the work in front of him, but after a moment was forced to look up and address the fact that O'Hara was watching him with a preoccupied expression on her face.

"What?" he asked testily.

"Did Shawn really psychically tell you when to jump Griffin?"

"_O'Hara_! Don't be so gullible. Of course he didn't. The phone rang, Griffin was distracted, and I saw my chance. End of story."

Juliet nodded, looking somewhat embarrassed. "It's just…"

"What?" he snapped, wishing she would get to the point, or, better yet, end the conversation altogether.

"You just seemed a little different with Shawn than you usually do. Nicer, I guess. It would make sense if you had shared some sort of, you know, psychic bond."

"I don't know how many times I have to tell you this O'Hara, but Spencer is not psychic. There is no such thing as psychic powers, but even if there were, Spencer would not have them. And God forbid that he and I share any kind of bond, psychic or otherwise."

"Understood," Juliet said, holding up a hand placatingly. "But you know, you two have been through a lot together recently. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world for you to actually get along."

"It might," Lassiter grumbled.

Juliet gave him an exasperated look and went back to her paperwork, and inwardly he breathed a sigh of relief. While he and Spencer certainly didn't share a psychic bond, they had shared a bond of a more physical sort. He was going to have to be more careful not to act any differently than he had before. Spencer, he had noticed, had not had any difficulty with acting as he normally did, spinning stories and flirting with O'Hara.

"That was weird," Gus said, as soon as he and Shawn were back in the Blueberry and headed for the Psych office.

"What was weird?" Shawn asked. "Are you talking about the way Officer Steward's eyelid twitches whenever she looks at you? Because that IS weird."

Gus scowled. "No Shawn, I was talking about the fact that Lassiter was actually _nice_ to you. For a few seconds, at least."

"Was he?" Shawn asked, looking out the window at the passing Santa Barbara scenery. "I didn't notice. And anyway, Lassie can be nice sometimes."

He could be VERY nice, Shawn thought, remembering the feeling of his hand wrapped around Shawn's –

"Not often," Gus said, "which is why I noticed it today. You want jerk chicken or Mexican food tonight?"

"Hmmm? Oh, chicken, mon," he said, dropping into a terrible Jamaican accent that made Gus grimace.

"Didn't I tell you that you weren't allowed to go Jamaican anymore, Shawn? It's embarrassing."

"I thought that was just a temporary ban!" Shawn protested.

"Consider it permanent," Gus said firmly. "He didn't even really yell at you, just told you to get off his desk."

"What?" Shawn said, confused. "Wait, are we back on Lassiter now? You can't just jump around from topic to topic like that, Gus. It makes you sound too much like me."

Gus shrugged. "It was just weird, is all."

"So you said," Shawn pointed out, finding that he was having a hard time keeping his tone light. "I've told you before Gus, Lassie isn't so bad. We have an understanding."

"I don't understand your understanding, but if it works for you, I guess that's all that matters."

Shawn wasn't so certain at the moment that it was working for him, actually. One hasty encounter had done nothing to scratch the itch he had for Lassiter. If anything, it had just made the itch even itchier, more impossible to ignore. Like the chicken pox, or a bad case of poison ivy or a persistent rash.

Maybe he should stop equating wanting Lassie with an itch. It was kind of gross.

He glanced over at Gus in the driver's seat and reminded himself that it didn't matter if he was still itchy for Lassie; he wasn't going to do anything about it. He was certain that the strange fluttery feelings he had for Lassiter would fade with time, just like the chicken pox did. He only hoped that it didn't leave a scar.


	2. Chapter 2

_Note: This chapter refers to events and conversations that took place in "Any Given Friday at 10 PM, 9 PM Central" and "Truer Lies"._

It was only a few days later that Psych was called in to consult on an investigation, the case of the mysterious dismembered foot and the crooked football players. Mostly it went pretty well, Lassiter thought, though there had been one incredibly uncomfortable moment when he had felt triumphant about getting one over on Spencer and had made an un-thought-out comment about finally finding a way to shut Spencer's cavernous piehole, which had immediately conjured up a memory of Shawn saying that there were other ways to shut him up, followed by the most intense blow job of his life. He could tell that Shawn was remembering the same thing by the way he got so flustered that for once, he couldn't come up with a suitable comeback. Lassiter thought that he had covered his own discomfort pretty well, mostly because it really had been amusing to see Shawn fumble for a response

A few minutes later, of course, Shawn came up with the requisite obscure 80s movie while making fun of Lassiter's hair, a Spencerian form of revenge.

There had been another, less embarrassing, bad moment when he had seen the picture of "Chad" on the wall of the Laundromat and flipped out a little over it; sometimes, it felt like Shawn was unwittingly stalking him somehow.

Spencer had spent a lot of the case running around in a football uniform and flirting with O'Hara, like he was trying to live out some high school fantasy about the quarterback and the pretty cheerleader. To her credit, O'Hara brushed off most of his flirtations, but Lassiter had caught her watching Shawn a few times when she thought no one was paying attention to her, and it was slightly worrisome. Surely she was too smart to fall for his bullshit, right?

Once again, the climax of the case involved Shawn and Gus being in mortal peril, this time from meathead football players. Sometimes he thought that he should suggest to Chief Vick that those two nitwits should be locked away for their own safety.

When Spencer came by the station later to pick up his check for the case, he paused by Lassiter's desk.

"So, not a football fan, huh? I would have thought that would be right in your macho wheelhouse."

Lassiter didn't look up from the report he was filling out. "Just never developed an interest, I guess. I didn't realize that you were a fan until this case."

Shawn shrugged. "It was a way for me and my dad to bond. Plus, all the guys in tight pants were very intriguing to my pre-adolescent self."

That did make Lassiter look up at him. "I'm surprised to hear you say that in public," he said dryly.

"No one else can hear us, Lass," Shawn said, looking around at the officers around the station, none of them paying any apparent attention to either of them.

Lassiter tried to force his attention back to his report. "Don't you have somewhere else to be? Where's Guster?"

"He had to go to his other job today. It's ridiculous the amount of time he has to spend there."

Lassiter thought about pointing out that this was patently untrue, since Gus appeared to spend the bulk of his time running around and getting into life and death situations with Shawn, but decided that it wasn't worth the trouble. Also, he had forgotten that Guster even had another job.

"What about your dad?" he suggested. "Go bother him for a while."

"Nooo," Shawn said, laughing a little. "This case was good because he got to hang out with one of his heroes all thanks to me. I should avoid him for a while, so that I can't disappoint him somehow."

That did get Lassiter's attention. "Why would you say that?" he started to ask, but was interrupted by Juliet coming in and setting a sack of food down on his desk.

"Here's your sandwich, Carlton. Hi, Shawn. What are you doing here?"

"It's payday, Jules! Gus insists that we take money, even though all the payment that I needed was the chance to run out onto that football field. So, what did you think? Was it the hottest thing you've ever seen? I've ruined you for other men, haven't I?"

"I'm sure I'll never be the same," she said, rolling her eyes.

"You know what?" Lassiter said abruptly, standing up and grabbing the lunch that O'Hara had brought him, "I think I'm going to go outside to eat today."

"I thought you were planning on eating at your desk," Juliet said, surprised.

"Changed my mind," he said, and left before he had to watch another sickening second of Spencer flirting with his partner.

"Were you bothering him?" Juliet asked Shawn, watching Lassiter leave the building, all tense shoulders and hurried pace.

"Me?" Shawn asked innocently. "Of course not, Jules. How can you accuse me of such a thing?"

"You love to wind him up," she said, crossing her arms and frowning at him.

Shawn thought about denying it, but there was really no point. "Yeah," he admitted with a grin, "I really, really do. But not today! Today we were having a perfectly innocent conversation. You know that species of Carltonius Lassasouras is moody. Maybe he needs some sunlight to perk up his droopy leaves. Or maybe he needs to be outside in order to contact his home planet."

Juliet didn't look amused. "You're impossible," she said, sitting down at her desk. "I don't know why the two of you can't get along."

Shawn knew exactly why Lassiter had stalked out of the station, but he wasn't sure what to do about it; if he were to suddenly stop flirting with Jules, then people – specifically Gus and Jules herself – would notice and think it was odd. And besides, he didn't WANT to stop. Juliet was fun and pretty and smart, and he liked making her smile and blush.

Since Jules was out of sorts with him right now, and Lassie was gone, Shawn decided it was time for him to leave as well. With a wave to Juliet, he left, putting on his sunglasses as he stepped out into the bright California afternoon.

Lassiter was sitting on a bench in front of the station, eating the sandwich Juliet had brought him. Turkey, mayo, no mustard, Shawn cataloged automatically. He stopped in front of the bench, but Lassiter ignored him.

"You said you would be fine with this," Shawn reminded him.

"I am," Lassiter replied. "I didn't want to spend time with you before, and I don't want to spend time with you now."

"Ah," Shawn said, wondering why that hurt when it was just Lassie being Lassie, "well then, I guess I'll be leaving."

"You do that."

After that, Shawn stayed away from the station for a few days, at least until Gus was able to go with him again.

Setting up the putting green in the middle of the station in order to test his skills turned out to be an excellent idea, especially since Jules and Lassie were out on a call and not there to amuse him and/or give him a case. It figured that just as he made what had to be the most amazing shot in the history of office putting, Lassiter would come along and step on the ball. His and Gus's timing in being at the station that morning proved to be fortuitous however, since it led to them investigating the case of Lyin' Ryan.

Since he had been known to stretch the truth a time or two himself, Shawn was immediately drawn to a case involving a man known to be a compulsive liar, but he soon found that he didn't have much in common with Ryan, who seemed nearly completely incapable of being straightforward about anything. It had been a relief to have his dad, who was so often his harshest critic (well, aside from Lassiter), confirm that he was nothing like Ryan.

Of course, in the same breath Henry had said that the only reason Shawn ever worked hard on a case was to have fun and to show off, which Shawn didn't think was entirely fair. Sure, he liked to have fun. Who didn't? And it was Henry's fault that he had these super duper investigative skills, so he shouldn't begrudge his son the chance to show them off sometimes.

But he also liked helping people, and stopping criminals. This was the first job he had ever had that he was passionate about. He couldn't turn his observational skills off, but he had finally found a way to put them to good use. And if he got to joke around and flirt with hot cops and pretend to be psychic and hang out with his best friend all the time while using them, well then, all the better. The bad guys still got arrested.

It stung a little though, to know that his dad thought he only did it for the fun and glory, like he couldn't do anything without an ulterior motive.

The night after the case with Ryan was wrapped up, after Lassie and Jules showed up just in the nick of time to save Shawn and Ryan from being shot, Shawn found that he couldn't sleep. It wasn't unusual for him to have trouble sleeping, particularly after near death experiences; he found that the worst thing about it was that being awake in the middle of the night, when there was no Gus to hang out with (Gus was very strict about his eight hours of sleep) was boring, and he hated being bored.

Food was always a good option when he couldn't sleep, so at two o'clock in the morning, after he had exhausted all the entertainment possibilities in his apartment, he went to a nearby all-night diner. He knew that it was a place popular with cops, close enough to the station to be convenient for patrolmen coming off duty or officers pulling long shifts, so he shouldn't have been as surprised as he was to see Lassiter there.

"What are you doing here?" he blurted out, sliding into the seat across from where Lassie was sitting and eating scrambled eggs and bacon.

Lassiter blinked at him, looking equally surprised. "I'm grabbing something to eat before I go home. What the hell are you doing here at this time of night?"

"I couldn't sleep," Shawn said briefly. "Wait, you mean you've been at the station this whole time? We wrapped the Lyin' Ryan case hours and hours ago! Assassins captured, innocent lives saved, go team!"

"You mean YOU wrapped it hours ago. I still had to question them, book them, write a report…"

"Oh yeah," Shawn said. "I always forget about all that stuff."

"That's because you never have to do any of that stuff."

"Still, you should be home already, Lassie, tucked safely in your bed," he said, taking in Lassiter's bloodshot eyes and general air of exhaustion.

Lassiter shrugged. "I was going to leave a few hours ago, but we got a call about a shooting at a residence on Forester Street."

Perking up with interest, Shawn asked, "A murder? Tell me more!"

"Not your kind of case, Spencer. We already have a confession. Husband shot his wife because she wanted a divorce. She had a restraining order on him, uniforms had been called to the house a dozen times over the past year for domestic disturbances…it was an open-and-shut case."

"Oh," Shawn said, disappointed, sinking back into the booth. "That's depressing."

A bored looking waitress came by and asked Shawn if he wanted anything. "Cheese fries, and hot chocolate with marshmallows, please. He'll have a hot chocolate too," he added, nodding at Lassiter.

"I don't want hot chocolate, Spencer. I have coffee."

"He does want hot chocolate," Shawn assured the waitress. "Trust me Lassie, you do."

The waitress shrugged and left. There was an awkward silence at the table after her departure. Lassiter picked at his food, barely eating. Shawn found himself watching two of the waitresses having an argument over tips. He considered intervening and telling the one on the right – Shelley, according to her name tag – that he knew she was lying about stealing Patrice's tip money, but decided it was more hassle than it was worth.

"How did you know that Ryan was telling the truth?"

Shawn's attention swung back to Lassiter, who was looking at his scrambled eggs like the answer to his question might be found there.

"You know how it is," Shawn said, placing his hand against his temple, "I could sense his aura as soon as you brought him into the station. He was radiating truth, justice, and maybe even the American Way."

"Never mind," Lassiter sighed, sounding more weary than frustrated. "I don't know why I bothered to ask."

The waitress came by again and served them their hot chocolate and Shawn his fries. Shawn stuck his fingers into the mug, fished out a marshmallow, and put it into his mouth.

"Hypothetically speaking," he said, as he savored the gooey sweetness, sucking the marshmallow off his fingers, "there might be other reasons a person like me would be drawn to a case like that. You might not believe this Lassie, but there are cynical, hardened people out there who accuse ME of lying occasionally."

He looked up to see that Lassiter was staring at his mouth, but when he realized Shawn had caught him he hastily averted his eyes. "The mind boggles," Lassiter said, hesitantly reaching for his own mug of hot chocolate and taking a small sip.

"So, when presented with a man that no one believes, I might be inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt. Hypothetically, of course. In reality, I saw into his mind and knew he was telling the truth. And also that he has some very strange theories about _Gilligan's Island_."

"So you got involved with his case because you thought he might have something in common with you?"

Shawn smiled bitterly. "Actually, I've been informed that the only reason I solve cases is to show off and have fun, so I guess I must have gotten involved just for the thrill of having bad guys point their guns at me again."

"Bullshit," Lassiter snorted, taking a big gulp of his hot chocolate. "Who told you that? It doesn't matter," he said waving a hand derisively, "It's a load of crap no matter who said it."

"Oh?" Shawn asked, confused. "I would have thought you would be the first one to sign on in agreement to that theory."

"Are you out of your mind, Spencer? Look, the way you go about solving crimes is completely asinine. You endanger yourself and Guster without giving it a second thought. You act like you have no concept of procedure or the law. You lie and manipulate and…what?" he asked, as Shawn shoved aside his nearly empty plate of fries and dropped his head onto the table.

"Nothing," Shawn said, his voice muffled against the tabletop. "I just thought you were about to say something nice about me. I should have known better."

Lassiter scowled at him, even though he couldn't see it. "Like your ego needs me to say something nice about you. What I was going to say is that any idiot could see that you don't do this because it's fun; you do it because you have to. It's in your blood. You're a natural born investigator."

Shawn sat back up, considering this. "That was dangerously close to being a compliment, Lassie."

Lassiter set his now empty mug down on the table. "Yeah, well, don't tell anyone," he said, as he pulled out his wallet and tossed a few bills onto the table. "I'm ready for bed now."

Shawn's eyes widened slightly and Lassiter hastened to say "I mean, I'm going home. Alone! To sleep. You should, too. To your home."

Shawn couldn't hide his grin, but all he said was "Okay, I'll do that. Good night, Lassie."

"Good night," Lassiter said, standing up to leave. "Oh, and Spencer?"

"Yeah?"

"You were right about the hot chocolate. Thanks."

After Lassiter left, Shawn continued to sit at the table for a few minutes, thinking over something else that Henry had said, that he had always had someone around who knew when he was lying and bothered to call him on it. Henry had always been that person in his life, but nowadays, Lassiter was too. Shawn wondered if that wasn't part of the reason that he was drawn to him. It was kind of refreshing to have someone that he couldn't charm or deceive into doing what he wanted – with Lassiter, he actually had to work for it.

Yawning, Shawn decided that Lassiter had the right idea about going to bed, though it was really too bad that they both had to go home alone.

Before leaving though, he had one tiny piece of business to take care of. He waved over Shelley-the-waitress, giving her a sweet smile as she came over to his table.

"Can I help you?"

"Shelley," he said gently, "you need to give Patrice her tip money back."

Fear, followed by anger, flashed across her face. "Is she complaining to customers about me now? I didn't take her money!"

"Yeah, you did. I'm a psychic, Shelley, with the Santa Barbara Police Department. If you don't return that money and stop taking things that aren't yours, I see bad things in your future. You have to stop, now, or the consequences will be dire."

He stood up, putting money on the table for his own waitress, and patted Shelley on the arm as he walked past. "Good night, Shelley."


	3. Chapter 3

_Note: This chapter references the events of the episode "Tuesday the 17th"._

When Lassiter received the call from Victoria, he was elated. He hadn't heard from her in months, and he was hoping against hope that she was finally ready to give their marriage another chance.

Lassiter had liked being married, liked having someone else care whether or not he came home at night. He missed it. He had spent more than two years actively working to get Victoria back, to fix whatever it was that he had screwed up. He couldn't change the fact that he had a sometimes dangerous job that required him to work long hours, but he had tried to change other aspects of himself, to be more open and a better listener and all that other crap the marriage counselor had advised, all to no avail.

After so much time had passed, he had started to accept that there was no chance for reconciliation, but hearing her voice again, asking him to meet her for dinner, had made all those old expectations come back. So he bought flowers and jewelry, and practiced what he would say to her, and found himself daydreaming about what it would be like to be married to her again.

A tiny voice in the back of his mind reminded him that if he recommitted himself to Victoria, that would end the possibility that something else might happen between him and Shawn. Well. That could only be a good thing.

So he went to dinner with Victoria with the anticipation of a new beginning, only to have his heart crushed once again.

He had given her some nice speech about moving on and tomorrow and whatnot, but the reality of it was that after everything he had tried and everything he had hoped for, he was still alone. Hope was for suckers.

When he got home he turned his phone back on (he hadn't wanted work interrupting his big reunion) and found that he had missed a call from Spencer. No message though, so it must not have been important. Good. That meant he could get pleasantly drunk and wallow in his own bitterness for a few hours.

Victoria didn't want him anymore. Lucinda had left as soon as their relationship had been outed. And Shawn…Shawn wasn't worth thinking about. Lassiter's attraction to him was an aberration, brought on by loneliness and maybe a certain admiration for the amount of cases that Spencer closed. Shawn had made it clear that there was no future in whatever they had shared, and that was fine with Lassiter. The idea of a future with Shawn was clearly ridiculous.

The next morning, he woke up with a hangover and a sense of failure. His mood didn't improve when he got to the station and was handed a message from O'Hara that she was on her way in after having made an arrest for a triple homicide overnight.

"What the hell happened last night?" he asked her as soon as she came into the station. "Why didn't you call me?"

She recoiled slightly from his tone. "I didn't want to bother you. How did it go with Victoria? Oh," she said in realization at seeing his expression. "I'm sorry, Carlton. I know how much you –"

He waved off her concern impatiently. "It's not up for discussion, O'Hara. Tell me about your case."

She nodded and perched on the corner of her desk. "Shawn called me last night sounding completely freaked out…"

"I should have known that this had something to do with Spencer," he sighed, leaning back in his chair.

"He said that he tried to call you too, but of course you had your phone turned off. I told him that you were meeting Victoria…"

"You told him what?" Lassiter snapped, then backtracked quickly. "Never mind. What did Spencer get himself into this time?"

She recounted the events of the night before, ending with "…so, Shawn thought that Gus was drowning, maybe dead, so he ran into the pool to rescue him, and Clive went after him with a machete…it really was like something out of a horror movie. I got there just in time. I shot Clive in the hand. After he's done at the hospital, he'll be brought here for booking. I imagine he's going to need a psych evaluation as well."

Mentally adding "maniac with a machete" to the list of people who had tried to kill Spencer over the past few months, Lassiter asked "Are Guster and Spencer all right?"

"Yeah, they're fine. Shaken up a little, but not seriously hurt. I think Shawn was more upset over the idea of something happening to Gus than he was over Clive trying to kill him."

"If he wouldn't run into these situations headfirst, then he wouldn't have to worry about Guster almost being killed!"

"He called for back-up," she pointed out. "He did the right thing."

"Yeah," Lassiter grudgingly agreed, rubbing at his forehead. His headache had gotten worse, no doubt because he was now being tormented over the image of some _maniac_ with a _machete_ trying to kill Shawn. "I should have been there."

"No! Carlton, you're entitled to a personal life. You were so excited yesterday…anyway, I had everything under control. I only wish that we had figured it out before he had the chance to kill three people."

She looked tired, and he suddenly realized that she probably hadn't had any sleep in more than twenty-four hours.

"Go home," he told her. "Get some sleep. I'll make sure he gets booked properly."

Looking relieved, she stood up. "Thanks. I have to admit, I'm beat."

As she started towards the door, he asked "Were you aiming for his hand?"

"Yeah. I know it was stupid, that I should have been aiming for a bigger target, but all I could think was that I wanted him to drop the damn machete."

He shook his head in disbelief. "Good work, O'Hara. Don't come back until Monday, okay?"

She nodded, started to leave again, but paused. "You know Carlton, if you need anyone to talk to…"

He almost snapped at her again, but stopped himself before he could. "Noted," he said. "Now, go home."

She nodded and left, and he considered the idea that Victoria was right; he really had mellowed. Two years ago he would have burned the divorce papers, and a year ago he would have bitten Juliet's head off for presuming to discuss his personal life. He couldn't decide if the change was better or worse.

Shawn jerked awake, his heart racing. The dream – more a jumble of memories, really – had been especially bad. Gus and Clive, Harrison Griffin and Claire Collins, all tangled up in his mind so that Griffin was snapping Gus's neck, and Claire was floating in the pool at Camp Tikihama, her neck at an awkward angle, asking if he wanted to go swimming.

He tried not to think about Claire too much, tried to tell himself that there wasn't anything he could have done to save her, but he didn't really believe that. If he had figured things out faster, maybe he could have saved her, and Casey and Sloane and Frank too. And now there was Billy and Annie, two more people he should have been able to save, if only he had seen how troubled Clive was from the beginning.

That brought up the image of Clive standing over him with the machete. Thank God for Jules and her impeccable aim.

He rolled over, closing his eyes and trying to clear his mind. He should try and get some more sleep; he was exhausted, and he had barely slept two hours before the nightmare woke him up.

He would never admit it, but he was a little pissed at Gus for dragging him into the whole Camp Tikihama thing at all, though he knew that Gus had never been able to say no to Jason Collins. Still, Gus had known that Shawn had just been through a whole "trapped in an isolated location with a serial killer on the loose" scenario just a few weeks before, so he should have known better than to put Shawn in that kind of situation again. It was no wonder that he had freaked and called Jules before realizing that the whole thing was a sham. And it turned out, in the end, that it was a good thing he had called her. He was starting to think that he should never leave home without Lassie or Jules, like they were well-armed American Express cards.

He had tried to call Lassie first, hadn't known until Jules told him later that he was meeting with his ex-wife. Victoria. He wondered what she was like; he had some ideas, based on meeting her father and on a few comments Lassiter had dropped over the years, but he would love to meet her and get a real read on the woman who had married Carlton Lassiter. Who even now, might be getting back together with him, according to what Juliet had said.

He wondered what that would be like, a married Lassie. Not as much fun, he thought. No more veiled flirting or illicit touching. Lassiter wasn't the type to mess around on the side – Shawn knew that he hadn't started the affair with Lucinda until after he and Victoria had been separated for more than a year – and for all his ease with lying, Shawn had never found infidelity attractive.

It was a worrisome thought, a Lassiter who was off limits to him. Although, he should consider him off limits now; he should be hoping that Lassie did get back together with his ex, effectively putting an end to this whole infatuation.

But he didn't want that to happen.

Restlessly, he rolled over again. Thinking about Lassiter conjured up an image of him, tall and broad-shouldered, crisp white shirt open at the collar. Shawn slipped a hand under the t-shirt he was wearing, and, imagining it was Lassiter's hand, pinched lightly at a nipple.

He remembered how it had felt being on his knees for Lassiter, the salty taste of him, the way Lassie had tried to be controlled but had been unable to stop himself from putting a hand in Shawn's hair to urge him on, greedy and eager.

Shawn reached over and opened the drawer of his nightstand, pulling out the bottle of lube he kept there. Closed his eyes so that he could more perfectly recall how it had felt to have Lassiter pressed up against him, the low growl of his voice in Shawn's ear, the way his hand had felt around Shawn's dick. Shawn mimicked the action now, his hips arching up off the bed at the touch of his slicked-up hand.

Afterwards, when he was finally starting to drift back to sleep, he felt a tickle of unease in the back of his mind. Not exactly because he'd jerked off thinking about Lassie; it was far from the first time he'd done that. What bothered him was that lately, he couldn't seem to think of anyone else.


	4. Chapter 4

_Note: This chapter references the events of the episode "An Evening With Mr. Yang"._

Calling Abigail Lytar was something that Shawn had been considering for a few days, before Gus pushed him into action with his comments about an eighty-year old Shawn still chasing after waitresses (Shawn was still trying to figure out if that would be such a terrible thing). He had adored Abigail in high school, and at the reunion he thought there was still a spark between them, and it seemed like if he were going to get past the Lassiter thing he needed to do something drastic, like maybe move on to someone he could be serious about.

It was a testament to his usual un-seriousness that both Gus and Abigail seemed stunned by his decision, but he could, you know, mature or whatever.

What had started off as such a promising day made an abrupt turn for the weird when he and Gus got to the station and became involved with the Yang case. It was creepy – and okay, maybe a smidge flattering – to have Santa Barbara's most famous serial killer target him as an investigator, but when he realized that Yang had kidnapped his mom, things took a decidedly more downward spiral.

Later, after his mom was safe and he was sitting in the Blueberry with Abigail at his side and Gus in the backseat, when he should have been paying attention to the movie, or, better yet, to the woman next to him, he kept flashing back to his mom and the bomb. He almost lost her. She only survived at the whim of a madwoman.

He couldn't stop thinking about her, either. Yang. There had been an emptiness in her eyes that disturbed him more than anything in his recent memory – and he had a lot of recent disturbing memories to draw from.

He felt a light touch on his arm and looked down to see Abigail's hand there. "Hey," she said softly, "are you still here?"

"Where else would I be?" he asked brightly. "It's true, sometimes when Gus goes on and on about something boring I go into a psychic trance and travel through space and time on the astro plane, but that would never happen around you."

Gus threw a piece of popcorn at the back of his head. "It's _astral_ plane, Shawn. Astro is the name of the dog on _The Jetsons_."

"No," Shawn said confidently, "his name is Dino."

"Dino is the pet dinosaur on _The Flintsones_."

"I thought his name was Barney."

Gus sighed in exasperation. "You're thinking of a different purple dinosaur. On _The Flintstones_, Barney was Fred's best friend, the one who was inexplicably married to the smokin' hot Betty."

"Yeah, how did that happen, anyway? He was, like, a two, and she was a solid ten."

"I always assumed he had mad skills with the ladies," Abigail said. "Or that Betty and Wilma were secretly doing it on the side."

"Abigail, I'm shocked!" Shawn said, "…that I didn't think of that first. It explains so much."

Abigail laughed and squeezed his arm, and he found himself holding her hand as she and Gus went back to paying attention to the movie and he returned to the private movie in his head, the one where there was a bomb on his mom's lap and a crazy woman holding the trigger.

My most admirable foe, she had said. That was why she had chosen him. For the first time in a long time, Shawn felt his old anger at his dad welling up. If Henry had just let him be a normal kid instead of trying to turn him into the world's greatest detective, then there would have been no reason for Yang to disrupt the lives of the Spencer family. He knew it was irrational to think that way, but he wasn't feeling especially rational at the moment.

Yang had told him to think about her on his date tonight, and he hated that he was doing exactly that.

He tried to force his mind onto a different track, but that only led to thinking about Jules and her incredibly sweet attempt to ask him out, which in its own way was as perilous as thinking about Yang. A few weeks ago he would have jumped at the chance to be with Juliet, but that was before he had had sex with her partner. Dating her now would be a whole combo platter of awkwardness. He had never really considered that his constant flirting with her might lead somewhere serious, that he might be in a position to hurt her.

Thinking about Jules meant thinking about Lassiter, and it was so wrong, wrong, wrong to be thinking about Lassiter while sitting beside Abigail, but he couldn't help but wonder if Lassiter would be able to keep him from feeling like he was about to fly apart in a million different directions. Lassiter had no tact and he generally failed at empathy, but he had a steadiness that would have been reassuring to the constant buzz of anxiety in his head tonight.

After the movie was over, he walked Abigail to her car and kissed her goodnight, and it should have been a moment in which he heard angels singing or something equally epic, because this was supposed to be the start of something new, something real, but instead it was just a kiss. A nice kiss, because it was always nice to kiss a pretty girl in the moonlight, but still. It was hard not to compare it to the last time he had kissed someone in the moonlight, which wasn't fair since he had thought he was probably about to die when he had kissed Lassiter on that balcony, so the adrenaline had been pumping and the whole thing had been frantic and hot and it was wrong to expect anything to live up to that, wasn't it?

***

Lassiter looked through the one-way glass of the interrogation room at the woman seated there. Yang was handcuffed to the table and there were two armed officers in the room, so any nervousness he was feeling was entirely irrational, he assured himself.

He went in and sat down across from her, opening the thick file folder that he had brought in with him and making a show of looking at it before looking up at her.

"Let's start with something easy," he said. "What's your real name?"

Yang looked over at him anxiously. "Do you think he liked me?"

"What?" Lassiter asked, taken aback.

"I was so nervous! Big day, you know? I really wanted to make a good impression."

"What in the name of sweet justice are you talking about?" Lassiter asked, utterly confused.

"Shawn, silly! Do you think he liked me?"

Lassiter stared at her in disbelief. "You kidnapped his mother and threatened to blow her up, so no, I don't think he liked you. Now, what's your name?"

"What's it like to work with him? I bet it's amazing."

"Okay, you don't want to tell me your name. Fine. Let's talk about the original string of Yang murders back in 19—"

"He has the nicest smile, don't you think? I mean, he didn't smile at me tonight," she said sadly, "but I have pictures."

Lassiter's stomach knotted at the thought of Yang owning pictures of Shawn, but he kept his expression even. "We're not here to talk about Mr. Spencer. Now, if you'd like to tell me about how you kidnapped Madeline Spencer, then I'm all ears."

Yang smirked at him. "Poor choice of words, Carlton."

Lassiter ignored that; years of having Spencer and Guster make fun of his ears, his hair, his suits, and anything else they could come up with had made him immune to insults. "Tell me about the bomb, Yang. Where did you learn to build it?"

She shrugged with apparent disinterest. "You can learn a lot from the internet. Hey, can you find out for me why Shawn never updates his Facebook page? I want to know what he eats for breakfast every morning. He seems like a Lucky Charms man to me, what do you think?"

Lassiter set his jaw in frustration as she continued, her expression distant and her voice dreamy. "Don't you think he has the prettiest eyes? Are they green? Are they blue? I wish I could take them out and play with them." She frowned, tilted her head in consideration. "Do you think that they would look as pretty in a jar? I have a nice one."

A cold chill ran down Lassiter's spine and he slammed his hand down on the table in an attempt to get her attention. "Listen," he snapped, "things are only going to be harder on you if you don't answer my questions. Now, stop trying to change the subject and tell me what your real name is."

"I didn't realize until tonight how good he smells. I'd like to eat. Him. Up."

Lassiter didn't even realize that he had leaned across the table and grabbed her arm, the red wave of anger consuming him was so intense.

"Stop it," he said furiously. "Stop talking about Shawn."

For the first time all night, Yang's bright, empty eyes were finally focused on him, and despite his tight grip on her arm, she laughed in apparent delight.

"Carlton! I had no idea! Am I going to have to fight you for his hand?"

"Detective Lassiter," snapped a voice from behind him, and he suddenly realized what he was doing and that Chief Vick had entered the room unnoticed by him. He released Yang and stood up, taking a step back.

"Detective, can I see you outside?" Vick said, her tone clipped and professional. He followed her into the observation room, swiping his hand across his face as he tried to compose himself.

"Carlton, I think it's time for you to go home."

"Chief, I'm sorry I lost my temper. It won't happen again, just let me –"

Vick shook her head, "I'm not angry at you for that, Carlton, and I'm not punishing you. She would try the patience of a saint, and well…"

"I'm no saint?" he offered dryly.

"Exactly. Really, there's not much you can do tonight. The psychiatrist is on his way to make his evaluation, and while her prints haven't turned anything up yet, we're running her through every possible database to try and find a match. The crime scene guys are still going over her car with a fine tooth comb to try and find anything that might tell us who she is and where she's from. She's obviously not going to give anything away right now, so it would be better to come back at her tomorrow with more information."

"She's obsessed with Spencer," Lassiter said grimly, looking into the interrogation room at Yang, who appeared to be examining her cuticles.

"So I heard," Vick said. "Are you…never mind. Go home, Carlton, and get some rest. Come back after lunch tomorrow and we'll go from there."

He nodded, secretly relieved that he didn't have to go back into the interrogation room and listen to anymore of Yang's sick fantasies about Shawn.

On his way out of the station, he saw O'Hara at her desk and made a detour to speak with her.

"I thought you had gone home for the night," he said, confused.

She didn't look up from the report she was typing. "I went to check on Shawn. I didn't think I would be back tonight, but I was too wired to go home, so I thought I'd come in and try and get some work done."

"You saw Spencer? Is he all right?" Lassiter asked, forcing himself to sound as casual as possible. He would ask the same about anyone whose mother had been kidnapped and almost murdered, after all.

"He's fine," Juliet said, still not looking at him. "He had a date."

"A date," Lassiter said blankly.

"Yes. So, did you question her? Yang?"

"Yeah. It was…unproductive. The Chief wants to wait and try again after the shrink has a chance to evaluate her."

"What's she like?" Juliet asked curiously, and now she did look at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, like she had been crying.

"She's completely fucking crazy," Lassiter said. "Are you okay, O'Hara?"

"I'm fine," she said, hastily turning her face back to her computer screen. "You should go home. I'll see you tomorrow."

He stared at the back of her head, concerned. "O'Hara…"

"Carlton," she said gently, "I'm just a little wound up from everything that happened today. I'll be fine. Good night."

He left reluctantly, unsure of how to handle a fragile O'Hara but knowing that in her place, he would want for his partner to give him space.

The idea of driving past Spencer's place and checking on him was overwhelmingly tempting, but remembering what O'Hara had said about him having a date, he decided against it.

A date. On the same night that he caught a serial killer. Christ.


	5. Chapter 5

Gus could tell that he was antsy on the drive home, and he offered to hang out with Shawn all night, but Shawn told him to go home and get some sleep. Gus had to be exhausted; between imitating Michael Jackson and running after a train, the day had been just as long and weird for him as it had been for Shawn.

Once he was alone, he took a shower, standing under the hot spray of the water and closing his eyes, trying to shut out the memory of his mom, the bomb, Yang. He tried to think instead about how Abigail's hair smelled like apples, and how sweetly she had pressed up against him when he kissed her, but he couldn't hold onto the pleasure of those memories, and within seconds he was back to the bomb, his mom, Yang.

Trying to go to sleep would be useless. He got dressed and paced around his apartment a few times, looking for distractions, but nothing could hold his attention, so he gave up and went out to his bike. Maybe some fresh air and a ride around town would clear his mind.

His mom, terrified, silent. The bomb, blinking away in her lap. Yang, sly and unstable.

He wasn't sure at what point he decided to go to Lassiter's house; it was less of a conscious decision and more a feeling of being drawn to the one person who might be capable of shutting down the looping images going through his mind.

Lassiter didn't believe in psychic powers, but he knew without looking who was knocking at his door at nearly three in the morning.

"Spencer," he asked tiredly after opening the door, "what are you doing here?"

Shawn looked past him, into his dark house. "Can I come in for a minute, Lassie?"

Lassiter didn't move away from the door. "It's been a long day, Shawn. Why don't you go home and try to sleep?"

"I don't think that's going to happen right now. Hey, I had a date tonight," Shawn said conversationally. "With Abigail, do you remember her from my high school reunion?"

Lassiter does remember her: a pretty girl, laughing at something Spencer had said.

"If you want to talk about your conquests Spencer, you should go find Guster. I'm not interested."

"No, it wasn't like that! Abigail was my high school dream girl. I've wanted to go out with her for fifteen years."

"Great. I'm sure you'll be very happy together. Good night."

He tried to close the door, only to have Shawn push his way in.

"Something funny happened before my date, though."

"Was this before or after the deranged killer threatened to blow up your mother?" Lassiter regretted the question almost instantly, as even in the semi-dark room he could see Shawn go pale.

"After," he said, sounding steady but slightly detached.

Lassiter sighed and went into the kitchen to get them both a drink, Shawn following at his heels.

"Okay," he asked, pouring two shots of whiskey and handing one to Spencer, "what happened?"

Shawn took too big of a gulp of his drink and choked. "God, that's awful," he sputtered. "How do you drink that?"

"You're supposed to sip it, not chug it."

"I think I'd rather have pineapple schnapps," Shawn said, but took a more measured drink from the glass while Lassiter tried to wait patiently for him to get to the point.

Shawn's eyes darted restlessly around the kitchen, looking anywhere but at Lassiter. "You were really mad at me today, Lassie."

Lassiter felt a twinge of anger even at the reminder. "If she had died because of what you did..." he let the sentence trail off, still disgusted with Shawn for pulling that stunt with the phone.

"The reason everyone else has always lost to Yang is because they always play by her rules," Shawn said fiercely, and now he was focused on Lassiter, angry and intent. "The only way to win is to stop playing her game."

"You got lucky," Lassiter said furiously. "You took that girl's life in your hands. And how did not playing by Yang's rules work out for you, Spencer? How did it work out for your mother?"

For a second, Lassiter thought that Shawn might actually punch him; he looked that mad. But he shook it off quickly, picking up his glass and taking another drink.

"Everyone is fine," he said, and it was almost believable, except that Lassiter could hear the tremor in his voice, "and we caught Yang. I didn't come here to argue with you."

"Why did you come here?"

Shawn shrugged, reached for the bottle and poured himself another shot. "Did you question her?"

"Yes," Lassiter replied, almost that Shawn hadn't changed the subject completely.

"Did she have, you know, a good reason for going after my mom?"

"She's crazy, Spencer," Lassiter said gently, "and she's been reading about you in the papers and developed an obsession with you. That's all the reason she needs. Is that why you're here? To find out more about Yang?"

"It's like…I can't shut my brain off tonight. I thought maybe keeping the date with Abigail would help, you know, give me something new to think about, but…" he trailed off. "I heard that you had dinner with your wife the other night. Are you guys getting back together?"

"Not your concern," Lassiter said harshly, pissed that Shawn had even brought it up. "And why the fuck would that matter to you?"

Shawn set his glass down and moved in closer to Lassiter. Too close, Lassiter thought, but he didn't move away. Gently, Shawn plucked at the collar of Lassiter's shirt, looking up at him with his steady hazel eyes.

"We have unfinished business between us Lassie, and you know it."

Glaring at him in disbelief, Lassiter snapped, "You're the one who made the rules in the first place!"

"Yeah. You might have noticed, I've never been good at following rules. Come on," he said quietly, crowding into Lassiter's personal space as he spoke, "just help me forget for a little while. One night only."

Lassiter thought back to what he had told Victoria, that he had never seized the moment or let his emotions carry him. Hesitantly, he put his hand against Shawn's face, feeling the rough prickle of stubble against his palm. He stroked his thumb across that lying, duplicitous mouth and felt Shawn shiver against him.

"Did you kiss her?" he asked without meaning to.

"Yeah," Shawn whispered, like he was confessing to something criminal. "Just a goodnight kiss. Gus was there, so –"

That almost broke the spell that Lassiter felt like he was under. He stared at Shawn in disbelief. "You took Guster on your date with your dream girl?"

"It's his car," Shawn admitted, abashed. "And it was kind of a crazy night, if you'll remember."

Lassiter did remember, and it made him rethink what he was doing. "This is a mistake. You went through an insane ordeal and now you're not thinking clearly."

"Maybe not. All I know is that I was out with a girl that I've wanted since high school, and all I could think about all night is how much I would rather have been with you."

Whatever defense Lassiter had tried to build up crumbled. He leaned forward and kissed Shawn, thinking all the while that this was a terrible idea, and also that he didn't care that it was a terrible idea, because it was such a relief to feel Shawn pressed up against him again.

He could feel Shawn's hands moving to his chest, his fingers hurriedly pulling open the buttons of his shirt, and he pushed Shawn against the side of the refrigerator, grabbing his wrists and pinning them over his head. Shawn stared at him, wide-eyed and breathing hard.

"Lassie, what are you doing? Let me –"

"No," Lassiter said, and even to his own ears his voice sounded husky and strange, "if we're going to do this again, then we're going to take it slow."

"But –"

"No," Lassiter said again, pressing Shawn's wrists a little harder against the wall and watching as Shawn's eyes dilated further, the tip of his tongue coming out to lick at his lips, either from nerves or lust, Lassiter didn't know. "You want me to help you forget? Then you're going to have to give up control of the situation for once."

Shawn tilted his head back and closed his eyes, like he was seriously considering this, before agreeing. "Whatever you say, Lassie."

"Good," Lassiter said, but didn't loosen his grip on Shawn's wrists. "Now, tell me what you want."

A jumble of different emotions seemed to cross Shawn's expression in a matter of seconds, but his response was a snort of disbelief. "I wanna fuck, Lassie. It's not that complicated."

"No," Lassiter said evenly, pushing into him a little, "that's not a good enough answer. Tell me what you really want."

Shawn looked discombobulated, like this was not going the way he had expected at all. "I want to be able to close my eyes and not see..." he shook his head and made a noise of frustration. "You know what I want? I want you inside me this time."

Which was how Carlton Lassiter found himself with Shawn stretched out beneath him on his bed. Lassiter tried to take it slow, really he did, but the friction, and the heat and the simple fact that it was Shawn underneath him, around him, made it impossible. He felt like he had been waiting for this moment not merely for the hour or so that he'd had Shawn in his bed, but since the first time Shawn had danced into his police station with his lies and his exuberance and his damnably brilliant crime-solving abilities.

Afterwards, neither of them moved for a moment, until Lassiter lifted his head. Shawn's eyes were closed, his cheeks flushed, his usually impeccable hair mussed. Lassiter felt an unexpected surge of possessiveness. Shawn was ihis/i, no matter how many psycho serial killers or gun-wielding assassins or nutcases with machetes tried to take him away. He brushed the sweat-soaked hair off of Shawn's forehead and kissed his temple lightly, a little worried that Shawn had made no attempt to speak or move away yet.

"Hey," he whispered, "are you still alive in there?"

Shawn smiled slightly, a hand petting down Lassiter's back soothingly. "Maybe. Let me get back to you on that."

After a minute more of peace, Shawn patted him lightly on the hip and said regretfully, "Okay big guy, as much as I like you on top of me, you have to move now."

With a sigh, Lassiter rolled off of him and stumbled to the bathroom to discard of the condom and get a damp washcloth to clean them both off with. By the time he got back to the bed, Shawn was already half asleep.

"Want me to leave?" Shawn mumbled, not looking at him as he climbed back into bed.

"What?" Lassiter asked, confused. "No, of course not. You can sleep here."

"Thanks, Lassie," he yawned, and was asleep before Lassiter was finished wiping the semen off of his stomach. Lassiter watched him for a few minutes, so unnaturally still and quiet in sleep, before he drifted off himself.

Lassiter wasn't sure how long he slept, but it was still mostly dark out when he woke up. He was almost surprised to find that Shawn was still there, stretched out on the opposite side of the bed giving Lassiter plenty of space. He was awake too, his sleepy gaze focused on Lassiter.

"So," Shawn said, his tone casual though his voice was raspy with sleep, "did I totally just deflower you of your assginity? Well no, I guess we would have had to do it the other way for that to be true, but you know what I mean."

"Spencer!"

"Deflower, deflower. That's a weird word," Shawn mused. "I've been with my fair share of people, and I've never noticed any flowers down there. Well, there was this one girl in Argentina who –"

"Is this your idea of appropriate pillow talk?"

Shawn grinned. "I'm just trying to break the ice, to keep things from being too awkward."

"I fail to see how this conversation is making things less awkward," Lassiter grumbled.

"We're talking instead of trying to avoid looking at one another," Shawn pointed out, and Lassiter had to concede that he was right.

There really was an awkward silence after that, before Lassiter remembered something that Shawn had said earlier, before…well, before.

"You never told me what happened," Lassiter said.

"Hmmm? What are you talking about?"

"When you came here tonight, you said that something funny happened before your date."

"Oh. That." Shawn rolled onto his back, looking up at the ceiling now, something in his expression suddenly closed off. "It wasn't really funny ha-ha. It was more funny uh-oh. Jules asked me out."

"What?" Lassiter asked, shocked. "You mean on a date?"

"I think she would have let me hold her hand and everything," Shawn said flippantly, but Lassiter could sense the seriousness behind his words.

"What did you tell her?"

He laughed a little, though he didn't sound especially amused. "I told her that her timing sucked because I already had a date."

Lassiter sighed and closed his eyes. Stupid, stupid, he was so stupid to have done this. Spencer had been chasing after O'Hara for years. It figured that she would pick now to give in to him. "Why are you here?" he asked, wondering what possible reason Shawn could have had for coming to him when he could have had Abigail or Juliet helping him forget his troubles.

Shawn didn't say anything, just scooted close enough that he could kiss Lassiter, lightly at first, then deeper when Lassiter didn't stop him.

After a moment, Lassiter pulled away long enough to say "That's not an answer."

"Sure it is," Shawn said, kissing him again, and Lassiter temporarily forgot what he had been worried about.

The next time Lassiter woke up, it was light out, and he was alone. He didn't see Shawn again for more than a month.


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's Note: I just wanted to take the opportunity to thank everyone who has left a comment on this story! I appreciate every single one of the reviews I get. You guys are the best!_

"So, what's up for today?" Gus asked as he sat down behind his desk. "Hit the station, see what Lassiter and Juliet are working on?"

"Mmm, no, I don't think so," Shawn said, not looking up from his laptop and the game of freecell he was currently owning. "How about a round of mini golf and then for lunch we buy one thing from every food truck that we see?"

"You know," Gus said carefully, "we haven't been to the station in a week. Not since the Yang case. Are you sure you don't want to go down there and see what's happening?"

"It's too beautiful a day to waste on crime, Gus!"

Gus took a deep breath, like he was bracing himself, before asking "Shawn, are you thinking about quitting Psych?"

"What?" Shawn asked, startled. "Dude, don't be that mole on Henry's back. I just think we could use a little vacation, you know? Hit the arcade, see some movies, check out the beach volleyball tournaments."

"That sounds good," Gus said, relaxing a bit. "It has been a stressful few months. Hey, we should go to the carnival on the boardwalk this weekend."

"No can do, buddy," Shawn said, grabbing the Nerf football on his desk and tossing it through the basketball hoop on the opposite wall. "I'm taking Abigail on Saturday. I owe her a trip to the carnival."

"You're really going out with Abigail again?" Gus asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

"Well, yeah. Does the first one even count as a date? I mean, you were in the backseat, so she would have felt uncomfortable making the move on me that she obviously wanted to make. She's a shy little minx."

"She wasn't going to make a move on you, Shawn! It was your first date. She hadn't even seen you in months, and before that, she hadn't seen you in years!"

"Exactly! I'm sure it took all of her willpower for her to keep her hands off of me. Luckily, on Saturday it will just be me and her, and she won't have to restrain herself at all. I'm picturing an x-rated carousel ride."

Gus looked disturbed, and also confused. "How would you…never mind. Don't be crude about Abigail, Shawn. She's a nice girl."

"All the girls I date are nice. That doesn't mean they don't like it dirty."

Gus picked up the foam football and threw it at Shawn's head. "Don't try and tell me what girls like."

Shawn ducked so that the ball hit the window behind him. "Someone has to, Gus! Otherwise, how will you learn?"

Gus tsked in exasperation and changed the subject back to where he had started. "So we're not taking any cases right now? For how long?"

"If we have any walk-in cases, we'll take them under consideration. I was just thinking that we could take a break from going down to the station and trying to get hired on. Maybe you should call the Chief and tell her that we're on vacation."

"Um, why do I have to call the Chief? Why can't you do that?"

"I'm the psychic detective half of our psychic detective business. You're the business half. Or, would that only make you one third? Either way, it's your job to call her."

"Fine," Gus huffed in annoyance, "I'll call her later. Are you sure you want to do this, though? You know how bored you get when you don't have a case to work."

"I won't get bored," Shawn promised. "I'm going to take it easy, enjoy some sun, some fun…do you think it's too soon to ask Abigail if she'd like to take a trip? I think I'd like to go skiing."

"You've been on one date that even you agree wasn't a real date. It's definitely too soon."

"Pffft. You're an old fuddy-duddy. I bet she'd think it was spontaneous and romantic and all that other crap that girls want."

"Yeah," Gus said, clearly not impressed, "you really know what women want."

"Let's get out of here," Shawn said, standing up and stretching. "I'm gonna need some sustenance if I have to explain to you about girls again."

It would be easier this way, Shawn thought. He needed to go cold turkey on his Lassiter fixation, because otherwise he was going to be in trouble. Might already be in trouble, if he was honest with himself.

There were good reasons to stay away from the station for a while, reasons that were easy to explain to Gus or the Chief or Henry or anyone else that asked. Yang really had done a number on his head. He and Gus had been working pretty solidly at Psych for a couple of years now, and they deserved a little time off.

No one had to know that the real reason he hadn't been to the station in a week was that he wasn't sure he could control his reaction when he saw Lassiter again. He needed some time to get past the mind-blowing sex and the warm, goopy feelings he was having before he could face Lassie with any kind of appearance of normalcy. As it was, he still couldn't even think about Lassie without his palms sweating. It was scary, and weird, and he didn't like it.

If it weren't for Gus and Psych, he would have been on his motorcycle and out of town days ago.

So, drastic steps needed to be taken. First, the vacation. Second, Abigail. Maybe it was time he attempted something more serious in the relationship arena. Maybe he was so stuck on Lassie because he was tired of one-night stands and flirtations that he knew weren't going anywhere. Abigail Lytar had always lived in his memory as the One Who Got Away, so maybe it was time to finally catch her and see what happened.

As for Lassie…well, Shawn was really doing him a favor, right? He hadn't called or come by Shawn's apartment, so he clearly wanted to pretend that night had never happened. And here was Shawn's gift to him, to stay away from police work for a few weeks. Lassie would probably thank him the next time he saw him, for being so considerate.

Shawn Spencer was a jackass.

Lassiter had known that for years, so he had only himself to blame if he hadn't remembered that little fact sooner. After he had woken up and found Shawn gone, he had been tempted to call and check on him, but he stifled the impulse. He, at least, was a grown man, not a teenager, even if the same couldn't be said for Spencer.

Shawn was the one who had left, without a word or a note, and he knew where to find Lassiter if he wanted to talk. Shawn had never suggested that he intended for them to have more than a one-night stand, and Lassiter would have been an idiot to assume otherwise.

Besides, he had a job to do. A demanding, high-pressure job that was better done without any hyperactive civilians around screwing things up.

So he worked, and at mid-week when O'Hara asked him if he'd heard anything from Shawn, he snapped that he wasn't Spencer's keeper and thank God for that. There was enough to keep him busy that he didn't have much time to dwell on how Shawn had tasted, or the way his fingers had curled into Lassiter's bicep when he came, or the desperate, hungry sound he made when Lassiter kissed him. Nope, no time at all to think about such trivial things.

There was, however, time to kick himself for the dumb, juvenile thoughts that had gone through his head during that night with Shawn. Thinking of Shawn as his, as if what had passed between them had been anything more than merely physical. He must have been out of his mind.

It was a little more than a week after the Yang case and the night that followed that Guster came into the station. Lassiter and Juliet had just returned from questioning witnesses in a jewelry store robbery and were going to their desks to write up the reports when the door to the Chief's office opened and Gus came out.

"Gus!" Juliet said, automatically looking around for Shawn, "what are you doing here?"

"I came to pick up the check for the Yang case," Gus said, as he came over to her desk, looking both at her and at Lassiter, "and to let the Chief know that Psych is taking a vacation."

"Oh?" Juliet asked. "Are you and Shawn going out of town?"

"Nah…well. Maybe. Shawn was talking about a trip, but I don't think he was serious. No, we're just taking a few weeks off. I think Shawn needed some recovery time after Yang, you know, to get his psychic receptors firing on all cylinders again."

Lassiter kindly refrained from saying "Bullshit," even though he really, really wanted to. Being rude to Guster without Spencer around wasn't as satisfying.

"So what are you guys going to do with your time off?" Juliet asked, and god, she was just too nice, Lassiter thought.

Gus shrugged. "You know, catch some movies, hang out at the beach. And Shawn's started dating a girl we knew in high school, Abigail, so I think he wants to spend some time with her."

"How sweet!" Juliet said, so chirpily that even Gus looked disturbed.

"Fantastic," Lassiter said, not caring if the bitterness he was feeling seeped into his voice, "Tell him not to hurry back to work. In fact, let him know that he should feel free to never come back at all. Now if you'll excuse us, we have a job to do, and it would be rude of us to start celebrating that we have a break from you two dunderheads while you're still standing here."

He half expected O'Hara to scold him, but she remained quiet. Gus, clearly accustomed to Lassiter's bad manners, just gave a polite goodbye to Juliet while ignoring Lassiter, and left.

"You know what?" Lassiter said, as soon as Gus was out of earshot, "I'm going down to the range and get in some target practice before I start on these reports."

"Good idea," O'Hara said as she stared after Gus, all traces of perkiness suddenly gone. "I think I'll come with you."

Back at the Psych office, Gus found Shawn looking through Val Kilmer websites.

"Did the Chief cry when you told her we were taking some time off?"

"That's sexist, Shawn. Does the Chief seem like a crier to you? She said to tell you to enjoy your vacation."

"I bet she cried after you left. And it's not sexist, Gus. I'm sure Buzz cries when he hears too."

"Well, one person who definitely isn't going to cry over it is Lassiter. He said to tell you not to bother to come back."

Shawn paused in typing out his passionate defense of Val's performance in _The Island of Dr. Moreau_ and looked up at Gus.

"You saw Lassie?" he asked, his voice going embarrassingly squeaky, and yeah, there were those sweaty palms again. He cleared his throat and tried to look cool. Gus didn't seem to notice.

"Well, I was at the station," Gus pointed out, "and he does practically live there. Juliet was there too."

"What did you tell them?" Shawn asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

Gus shrugged as he flipped open his laptop. "The truth, you know, that we were just going to take it easy for a few weeks, and that you wanted to spend some time with your new girlfriend." He looked over at Shawn and frowned. "Are you feeling okay? You look kind of sick."

"Bad burrito," Shawn said faintly, which was probably true because what else could be making his stomach twist up in knots?

"I told you not to buy anything from that food cart on the pier! Last time we were there, I saw the vendor handling his meat without putting on gloves or washing his hands."

"I'm going to ignore the way you phrased that, because I know what you meant," Shawn said, "and after the mental image you've just provided me, I can guarantee that I'll never eat there again."

"Gross, Shawn!" Gus said, scrunching up his nose. "Now I feel sick too. Let's talk about something else. How was your date with Abigail last night?"

"It was nice," Shawn said, returning his attention to the Val Kilmer forum, "We went to the carnival. We rode the Ferris wheel twice and I won her a stuffed elephant at the ring toss."

"I thought those games were always rigged."

"Not always! Especially not if you stop by earlier in the day and give the guy who runs it an extra twenty bucks to make sure you win."

"That's bribing, not winning," Gus pointed out.

"Agree to disagree."

"So it was just 'nice'? You don't have anything else to say about your first real date with the girl I had to listen to you spend all of high school mooning over?"

"A gentleman never kisses and tells," Shawn said primly.

Gus snorted in disbelief. "You're no gentleman. So, does that mean there was kissing?"

"When did you turn into such a gossipy old lady, Gus? Yes, if you must know, there was kissing. What did YOU do last night?"

"I memorized the protocols for a new athlete's foot cream and ironed all of my clothes for this week."

Shawn stared at him in horror. "At least now I understand why you have to live vicariously through my kissing stories. Come on," he said, shutting down his computer and standing up, "let's go use your season passes to the Aquarium and see if we can find you a hot marine biologist to be your girlfriend."

"Okay," Gus agreed, "but only because I want to see the sea lions."

Shawn and Abigail had been dating for nearly three weeks when she offered to cook him dinner at her place, which led, quite naturally, to making out with her on her sofa.

It had been three weeks of what Shawn privately thought of as "PG dating": they had gone to movies and on a picnic, been to the beach and to the zoo. They had held hands and kissed and, well, maybe there had been a little above-the-waist groping, but nothing that would make even Gus blush. Until now.

Now, she was in his lap, kissing for all she was worth, her fingernails scraping lightly against the back of his neck, and from her soft little moan when he licked into her mouth, things were definitely ramping up to R-rated territory. This was good, Shawn thought as he kissed her, slipping a hand under her shirt and curving his fingers around her breast. No, better than good. Amazing. After this, he would forget about the night with Lassiter. This was just what he needed, a pretty girl who wanted him. A girl that Gus liked, and Henry would approve of, a girl he enjoyed spending time with. So much better than stupid Lassiter, with his strong hands and clever mouth and his inability to let Shawn get away with anything. This would prove that…

"Shawn?"

He blinked, refocusing on Abigail, who, he suddenly realized, wasn't kissing him anymore.

"What's going on?" she asked softly, brushing a hand across his cheek. "I have a feeling you're not really into this."

"Of course I am!" he said immediately. "I don't know why you would think that!"

She backed away slightly, and he hastily removed his hand from her breast. "Well," she said wryly, "it might have been the way you stopped kissing me and started staring off into space."

Had he really done that?

"Sorry!" he apologized. "It was a, um, psychic vision that distracted me! A very powerful one! It won't happen again."

He reached for her to try to recapture the earlier mood, but she stopped him.

"I don't think this is going to work," she said.

No, no, no, no. This was not part of the plan at all. "Abby, don't say that. I really like you. I'm sorry if –-"

"I really like you too, Shawn," she interrupted, "but every time we're together, I get the feeling that you'd rather be with someone else."

"No!" he protested, "that's crazy talk."

"I'm not mad," she said gently, "But it's not fair for either of us to pretend that this is going somewhere when it's not."

"We can slow down, we don't have to do this tonight."

She shook her head. "It's not that we're going too fast. If anything, we've been going slower than I expected. It's that you always seem like you're a million miles away. And come on Shawn, you just zoned out while I was trying to get you to third base! It doesn't seem to me like you want this. I'd rather stop now, while we're still friends."

He opened his mouth to argue some more – this was supposed to work, damn it! – but found that he had nothing to refute her words with.

Instead, he leaned his head against the back of the sofa and closed his eyes. "Abigail, I'm so sorry. I really wanted this to work."

She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. "It's okay. I think maybe our timing was just bad, you know? Another time, another place…" she trailed off, then said "I'm just curious: is it that detective?"

His eyes snapped open and he sat up. "What?" he asked, alarmed. Was he really that transparent?

Abigail didn't seem surprised by his agitation. "I don't blame you. You work together, and she's so pretty."

"Oh," he said, relaxing a little. "Jules. No, we're just friends. I mean, I used to think…but no."

"If you say so," Abigail said, in a way that suggested that she clearly didn't believe him, and he knew that it was time for him to leave.

She hugged him awkwardly at the door, and he briefly considered trying to talk her into giving him another chance because she was _Abigail Lytar_ for god's sake, and this was supposed to work. However, the expression on her face was one of resolve, and he knew he would be better off not even trying.

As he got on his bike and realized that the feeling flooding through him was relief and not disappointment, he knew that Abigail had made the right decision.


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's Note: Whoo! We're finally in S4! This takes place during the events of the episode "Extradition: British Columbia". There is a tiny amount of dialogue taken directly from the episode that should be credited to Steve Franks and Andy Berman._

Going back to the station felt odd after avoiding the place for the past few weeks, but Gus convinced him that if Shawn wanted to beg for an advance, then he was going to have to come along and do it himself.

Gus wasn't as completely on board with his ski trip idea as Shawn wanted him to be, but he also seemed to be trying to be considerate of Shawn's feelings in the wake of Abigail dumping him. Gus hadn't seemed surprised that the relationship had ended so quickly, just annoyed with Shawn for not trying harder. In fact, he seemed far more upset over it than Shawn felt. Shawn wondered if it would be weird if he tried to set up Gus with Abigail; he thought they might be perfect for each other. Even thinking that made him realize that he must really be over Abigail if he was considering pairing her up with his best friend.

Neither Lassiter nor O'Hara were at their desks, and Shawn felt a momentary surge of hope that they might be able to get through this visit without running into either of the detectives, but that hope was dashed when they went into Chief Vick's office and found Lassiter getting his performance review.

The review must have been going okay, Shawn thought, because Lassie looked at ease until he saw Shawn. It was hard to focus on how closed off his expression suddenly became though, because his new haircut was demanding all of Shawn's attention.

He ignored how his heart sped up when he saw Lassie, even though Lassie was glaring at him in a way that suggested that if he had laser vision, he would be using it to turn Shawn into ashes. Did lasers turn things to ash? Shawn would have to ask Gus later. Right now, he had to make jokes about Lassie's hair and try to charm Chief Vick into giving them an advance and, most importantly, not throw himself at Lassiter in a fit of unbridled lust.

It was harder than he thought it would be, but somehow he persevered, though sadly Chief Vick turned down his request for money. He barely cared though, because just spending a few minutes with Lassie after weeks of separation made him feel giddy. Even the terrible haircut didn't give him pause.

He was in real trouble here. Hair was of paramount importance.

"Shawn, have you heard a word I said?"

Gus was glaring at him now, in much the same manner that Lassie had been earlier.

"Sorry Gus, I was busy compiling a list of insults to use on Lassie the next time I see him. Do you think it's too late for a Sinead O'Connor reference? Nah," he mused, answering his own question, "it's always the right time for Sinead."

Gus just shook his head. "Whatever, dude. What I was trying to ask you was if you were absolutely certain about this trip. I know you might lose your deposit on the hotel room, but if it's going to be weird for you since you had planned to take Abigail…"

"Are you kidding? It's going to be awesome. I am kind of regretting booking the room with the king sized bed instead of getting a room with two beds, but I'm sure there will be a chair or something you can sleep in."

"You must be out of your damn mind if you think I'm sleeping anywhere but in that bed."

"Why Gus, I didn't know you felt that way! I've always wanted a spring wedding, but I know you're set on having a Christmas one, so I think we should compromise and go for a fall ceremony. Our colors can be orange and burnt sienna, and our reception will be a costume party."

"Burnt sienna IS orange," Gus said, "and while I like the idea of a costume party reception, I wouldn't marry you if you were the last person on earth."

"That hurts, right here in my heart area," Shawn said, waving a hand over his chest. "If you think I'm sharing a bed with you after that, think again."

He had a feeling that once Gus figured out that it had been his credit card Shawn had used to procure the room in the first place, he was going to end up on the floor anyway. He just hoped it didn't get him kicked out of the room entirely. For the time being, what Gus didn't know wouldn't hurt either one of them.

Vancouver was beautiful, just as Shawn knew it would be. It was also several thousand miles away from certain attractive detectives, as well as overbearing fathers, and that made it all the more of an idyllic vacation spot. It was just him and Gus, hanging out and having fun and flirting with snowbunnies. Until he saw Pierre Despereaux.

Spotting Despereaux was thrilling on several fronts: it turned his vacation into an adventure, it was the opportunity to capture an international art thief, which would be a first, as well as the opportunity to make money from said capture, and it gave him a really good excuse to call Lassiter (though why Lassie thought he had been breaking into his apartment, he didn't know. He'd only done it once, to retrieve a sock he'd left behind).

He wasn't surprised when Lassiter showed up, Jules in tow. There was no way Lassie would let Shawn get the upper hand in capturing a criminal that he had on his "Most Wanted" wall of fame. It complicated things maybe, but Shawn couldn't deny the rush of pleasure he got from working with Lassie again. He needed to move past all these inappropriate and inconvenient _feelings_ and go back to the way things used to be.

Maybe Despereaux himself could help with that, Shawn thought. Maybe he had the wrong idea in believing Abigail could help him get past the Lassiter thing; maybe what he really needed was to spend the night with another guy. In a different set of circumstances, he wouldn't mind playing Rene Russo to Despereaux's Pierce Brosnan, though he wasn't interested in recreating the sex scene on the staircase, as that had looked more painful than hot.

He got the perfect opportunity to make that fantasy a reality when he found himself alone in a hotel room with Despereaux. All it would take would be a little more obvious flirtation, a little physical contact, and, well, nature would take its course. Despereaux standing there admiring his investigative skills in his smooth-like-satin accent was heady stuff; under different circumstances Shawn was pretty certain this encounter would end with a little boom boom boom.

But. Sleeping with the suspect he was trying to catch seemed like an ethical gray area that even he wasn't certain he wanted to cross. And, a tiny part of his brain piped up, while Despereaux did have nice blue eyes, they weren't as gorgeous as Lassie's, and while his cool British accent was hot, it somehow didn't measure up to the way Lassiter's voice got all deep and rumbly when he was turned on. The fact was, while he was attracted to Despereaux, it wasn't the same sort of bone deep longing that he felt for Lassiter.

He stomped ruthlessly on that tiny, unhelpful voice. The reason to not do this was that sleeping with a suspect was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, and also he wasn't certain he even wanted to because of Las—NO. Because it was wrong. That was absolutely, definitely, his only reason for leaving Despereaux and going back to his own hotel.

When he got there, he was surprised to find Lassiter in the lobby waiting for him.

"Where have you been? Guster's been back for a couple of hours."

"He didn't tell you?" Shawn prevaricated. He wanted to save the new information he had acquired about Despereaux until morning at least, so he could have a chance to mull over it a little longer.

"I haven't spoken to him," Lassiter said, "I was waiting for you."

"Oooh," Shawn said hopefully, "you wanted to get me alone while we're here in another country? Lassie, you dirty dog, I approve."

"Don't do that," Lassiter said irritably. "What about your girlfriend, huh Spencer? What would she think about you propositioning me?"

Shawn blinked at him in surprise. "I don't have a girlfriend, Lassie. Abigail and I went out for a few weeks, but we broke up. That's why I'm here with Gus and not with her."

Lassiter shook his head. "It doesn't matter. That's why I wanted to talk to you, to make sure that we were clear about it being a one time thing."

"Actually," Shawn said flippantly, "it was a two time thing. Three if you count doing it twice in one night, and I think we should. So, a three time thing. And here we are, outside of Santa Barbara, we could totally go for four, and it wouldn't even be breaking any of the rules."

"No," Lassiter said fiercely. "I'm not here for you to use any time you get horny and bored, Spencer."

"I was hoping we were both horny and bored," Shawn said, "but I'm starting to sense that that's not the case. Don't accuse me of 'using' you, Lassiter. We had a mutual agreement and you know it."

"You're right, we did," Lassiter agreed. "What I wanted to make clear to you tonight is that it's over. Completely. Never to be repeated."

Trying to hide his disappointment, Shawn shrugged casually. "Fine. Consider it clear." He started to head for the elevators. "Later, Lassie."

"You didn't answer my question, Spencer. Where were you tonight?"

Shawn considered telling him the truth, and also considered going with a complete lie and saying that he had been hooking up with someone else, but he settled for a half-truth.

"Gus and I went on a carriage ride in the moonlight, and he kicked me out while we were in the middle of nowhere. I had to walk back to the hotel. I was nearly attacked by vicious raccoons, Lassie! It was terrible."

Lassiter looked like he didn't really know what to do with this information. "Raccoons?" he asked disbelievingly. "Carriage ride in the moonlight with Guster?"

"Well…I didn't actually SEE any raccoons, but I know they were there!" He shuddered at the memory. "Watching me with their beady little eyes."

"What do you have against raccoons?"

"Um, it makes a lot more sense than your vendetta against squirrels! Raccoons wear masks! They're clearly up to no good."

"Right," Lassiter said, "of course."

The elevator door opened and Shawn stepped into it. "See you in the morning, Lass" he said as the elevator doors closed.

The idle thought that he should have let the attraction between himself and Despereaux lead to something occurred to Shawn once again at Despereaux's seaplane, as the two of them indulged in a little flirty back-and-forth (it was amazing how much he could get away with in terms of flirting with guys in front of Gus without Gus ever realizing it) before the police swarmed in. As the cops took Despereaux away, Lassiter came up behind him, putting a hand on the back of his neck as if to lead him away – a move he had done so many times over the past few years that Shawn was ashamed of himself for not realizing sooner that Lassie was attracted to him – and he forgot all about Despereaux.

"Can I talk to you for a minute, Spencer?" Lassiter asked through gritted teeth, already dragging Shawn away from where Juliet and Gus stood.

"Don't take your frustration about not being able to carry a gun here out on me!" Shawn said loudly, but it was a token protest. He was more than willing to find out what Lassiter wanted from him.

As soon as they were out of sight of the others, Lassiter gave him a little shove. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Spencer?"

"Taking my crime-solving abilities international? Well, it's not actually the first time I've done that. There was this one time in Thailand –"

"With Despereaux," Lassiter snapped. "What are you doing with Despereaux?"

"Capturing him? Figuring out his ingenious, though somewhat boring, plan? I mean, insurance fraud? Sadly unsexy after such a promising start."

"_That_!" Lassiter said angrily, jabbing a finger in Shawn's direction "That right there. You were flirting with him!"

"What's it to you?" Shawn demanded. "You made it clear last night that you weren't interested in getting jiggy with me anymore. I can flirt with anyone I want."

"Don't you have any self preservation instincts at all? He's a criminal!"

"A criminal with good hair," Shawn pointed out, "which puts him a step ahead of the nearest law enforcement. Myself and Jules excluded, of course."

"You're not law enforcement," Lassiter scowled, "and I should have remembered sooner that you're a fraud yourself, so it makes sense that you would be attracted to someone like Despereaux."

"Yeah," Shawn said, "I think we're done here. Have a nice flight home."

He turned to go look for Gus, half expecting that Lassiter might try and stop him. But Lassiter said nothing, and Shawn walked away with the overwhelming desire to punch something.

"Don't you think it's odd that you had planned to come here with your girlfriend, and now you're here with me?" Juliet asked hesitantly.

She and Shawn were standing on the Capilano suspension bridge. Gus had refused to come, saying that after the moonlit carriage ride, he was done with doing the romantic crap that Shawn had planned to do with Abigail. Shawn wanted to see the bridge though, and it wasn't as much fun to do touristy stuff alone as it was to share it with someone else. Lassiter certainly seemed immune to his charms at the moment, so he invited Juliet to come with him. Maybe it was a little weird to ask her along for a day that he had planned as a perfect date, but he had missed seeing her during the month he had stayed away from the station, and he wanted to try and smooth over the awkwardness they seemed to both be feeling around each other.

"I refuse to feel uncomfortable around you," he told her. "It's silly, and you mean too much to me. I'm perfectly capable of keeping this platonic as long as you are."

"Oh please, I can," she said, sounding as though she were trying to convince him that it was absurd of him to think otherwise.

"I can too," he insisted, and most of the time he thought it was true, though it was harder to feel that way at moments like this, when she was smiling up at him with her hair falling around her face.

"So, at least show me what you had planned for this perfect date," she said, and he did, though the opera singer and the balloon animals seemed a little ridiculous with no romance attached to the day. Juliet leaned against the railing overlooking the river as Shawn spun out a history of the bridge built by wolves, and even as she laughed, he was struck by the pensive expression on her face.

"Whatcha thinking about, Jules? If you're trying to imagine how the wolves built the bridge, you should probably know that they were mutant wolves. And they had jet packs."

"I was just thinking..." she paused and looked at him imploringly, "don't take this the wrong way. I meant what I said back there about us being platonic. But I was just thinking that it would be nice if somehow we all just _knew_ who was right for us, so that we could be spared the pain of going after someone that it isn't going to work out with. I know your powers don't work that way, but don't you sometimes wish that you could see into the future and know who you'll end up with?"

"I know who I'll end up with," Shawn said lightly. "When Gus gets married, he and his wife will adopt me, and I'll live out my days with them. It won't be as kinky as it sounds...or maybe it will be. I haven't decided yet. I'll have to meet his future wife before I make a call on that. You know," he added thoughtfully, "you and Gus would make a very attractive couple. Your babies would be beautiful."

Juliet laughed and punched him in the arm. "Shawn! Seriously, don't you wish that before you started dating Abigail that you knew it wasn't going to work out?"

He shook his head. "No. I like finding things out for myself. I mean, if I hadn't tried it for myself, I would never know that the deep fried Snickers bar really is as delicious as they say. Some things could never be conveyed through a psychic vision."

She rolled her eyes at him, but didn't drop the conversation the way he'd been hoping. "Do you mind if I ask, Shawn? What happened between you and Abigail?"

"Come on, let's go sit down," he said, taking her arm and leading her over to a tiny outdoor table outside of a cafe.

"It's none of my business," she said as they sat down, and he could see that cheeks were pink with embarrassment, "let's just get something to drink and talk about anything else."

"No, it's okay Jules. I don't mind telling you. She realized that I wasn't as serious about the whole relationship thing as she was, so she broke up with me."

"I'm sorry," Juliet said earnestly, "I mean, I remember seeing you two together at your high school reunion. I could tell you really cared about her."

"Yeah, well, she was right. I'm not interested in anything serious right now, or possibly ever. Me being in a real relationship would be like a blonde Molly Ringwald or an episode of _Family Ties_ without Alex P. Keaton. It's just wrong, is what I'm saying Jules, an upset of the natural order."

She smiled at him. "I wouldn't want the natural order to be unbalanced," she agreed, "but maybe one day you'll meet the right person, and it won't be so unnatural anymore."

It was on the tip of his tongue to say something flirtatious, to try and re-establish the way their relationship had been before Abigail. It would be so easy, and she was so goddamned beautiful.

"Shawn? Are you all right? Are you having a vision?" she asked worriedly, and he realized that he had been quiet for too long, and probably staring at her like a creepy creeper.

"A vision? Yeah, something like that," he said, and it was almost true, because he could see a future where he kept chasing Juliet until he caught her, and then he would...what? Tell her he wasn't really psychic? No, because she trusted him, and he never wanted to shatter that trust. She was probably the only person in his life aside from Gus - who knew that he wasn't psychic - who genuinely believed in him.

So, a future in which he had a relationship with Juliet and lied to her all the time. What scared him was that he knew he was capable of doing exactly that, and he wasn't sure what kind of person that made him. Maybe not a person he wanted to be.

He lied to Lassiter all the time too, of course, but the difference was that Lassie knew he was being lied to and called him on it frequently. With Lassiter, it felt like a game, one where everyone knew the rules. But with Jules...he looked again into her trusting blue eyes, the look on her face puzzled and slightly worried at his long silence. With Jules, if they were involved and she ever found out, it would be a betrayal.

It was a surprise how much of a relief it was to know that he was closing that door. He took Juliet's hand and squeezed it. "I can't see the future," he said honestly, "but what my senses tell me is that I'm meant to be a lone wolf."

Her brow crinkled in confusion. "Doesn't your friendship with Gus prevent you from being a lone wolf, Shawn?"

"Only technically," he told her. "What I'm trying to say is -"

"It's okay, Shawn," she interrupted, "I'm not pining over you if that's what you're worried about." She looked mildly amused at the very thought.

"No!" he protested, even though he had been worried about that very thing. "You're way too cool to do anything crazy like that. I just wanted to make sure we're good. You know, as friends."

"We're very good," she assured him. "I'll admit, I was pretty upset at first, but I spent a lot of time thinking about it over the past few weeks, and I realized that we would never work out in the long run."

"We wouldn't?" he asked, because as soon as she said the words, his natural instinct was to try and prove her wrong.

"We wouldn't," she said firmly. "First of all, I'm really focused on my career right now, and I'm not so sure I'm ready for the commitment of a serious relationship either. Second of all, please don't take this the wrong way, but I think I would be happier with someone a little more, uh, mature. Lastly, I really value what we have, Shawn. You were the first real friend I made when I came to Santa Barbara, and I wouldn't want to ruin that by trying to turn our friendship into something it's not."

Shawn wanted to protest over the maturity dig, but, well, it was fair, so he let it slide. "You're a pretty smart cookie, Juliet O'Hara."

"I like to think so," she agreed.

"Okay," Shawn said, smacking his hand on the table, "enough serious talk for today. We should be having fun. We're in Canada! It's like a whole different state!"

"You know it's a different country, right?"

"I've heard it both ways. So, the next thing I had planned to do with Abigail was to go ice skating. You in?"

"I'm so in," She agreed, "as long as I'm free to meet Carlton back at our hotel in three hours so I don't miss my flight."

At least, Shawn thought as he followed Juliet away from the cafe, he was capable of fixing his relationship with one of the detectives. He only hoped that things would get back to normal soon between him and Lassiter.

That night at dinner, Shawn found himself picking at his Tiki burger. Gus looked up from his plate of poutine with concern.

"Are you thinking about Abigail? I knew coming on this trip was a bad idea."

"Nah, I'm not thinking about her. I don't how many times I have to tell you Gus, it was mutual. She and I are cool."

"Then what's wrong? You have the same expression on your face now as you did back in eighth grade after Jenny Wexler gave you a wedgie during the homecoming dance."

"I thought we had a pact to never talk about that. You bringing it up means that I'm within my rights to bring up the Carlotta Jackson incident," Shawn said. "And I do not! Just because I'm quiet for five minutes doesn't mean that I'm sad about anything other than the fact that this pineapple salsa is not living up to my expectations."

"Historically it does mean you're sad," Gus said, after thinking it over for a brief moment, "and don't you dare bring up Carlotta Jackson, Shawn! That was your fault, anyway. You're the one who told her that I was a martial arts expert."

"You were on that Bruce Lee kick, watching his movies every day! I assumed you had picked up some tips. How was I supposed to know that you couldn't karate chop bricks with your bare hands? It was brave of you to try, though and I always thought she was in the wrong for laughing at you for crying like a little girl."

"I nearly broke my hand, Shawn! You would have cried too," he said sulkily, "and your attempt to distract me from the fact that something is bothering you has failed. Tell me what's wrong."

"Seriously Gus, nothing's wrong. I'm just suffering from post-case letdown."

Gus shook his head. "I know your post-case-blues face, and this is not it. This is your romantic trauma face. Oh god," he said, as a thought struck him, "this isn't about Juliet, is it? You went out with her today to that bridge. You're not going to start mooning over her again, are you? Because I'm not sure I can go through another three years of that."

"I've never mooned over anyone," Shawn scoffed, insulted, "and there's nothing going on between me and Jules except for friendship and, and , the camaraderie that exists between coworkers. I've moved on."

"Moved on to whom?" Gus asked, his eyes narrowed in speculation.

"No one in particular! The world is my oyster, Gus."

Gus shrugged, unimpressed. "Not getting any younger," he reminded him.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Burton, but we're the same age. Where's your girlfriend?"

"I have possibilities you don't even know about, Shawn! I don't tell you everything. And anyway, when I'm ready, there will be plenty of women lined up around the block for this," he said, gesturing to himself. "You, on the other hand, will have a lot of work to do to make up for all of your flaws, so you should get started as soon as possible."

"What flaws?" Shawn asked, outraged.

"Um, you live in a Laundromat, your 'career', such as it is, consists of lying to the police about your nonexistent mystical powers, and your retirement plan is the piggy bank full of pennies you keep on your dresser."

"First of all, it's an EX-laundromat," Shawn said, "and the fact that I've converted it into a living space shows my creativity and flexibility, Gus. My 'career' is catching murderers and thieves and assorted other bad guys and girls and putting them in prison, which is a sexy, sexy career. And I've been collecting those pennies in Mr. Piggington since I was eight, and you know it! We'll see in forty years which one of us made the better financial decisions."

"Your most recent financial decision was using MY credit card to pay for this vacation!"

"Exactly," Shawn said, "and I saved a lot of my own money by doing that."

Unswayed by this impeccable logic, Gus just glared at him. "You're paying me back half of whatever we spend here, Shawn."

"Sure. Monopoly money is legal tender, right?"

Gus didn't bother to dignify that with a response. "So, what do you want to do for our last night here? We haven't been to the science museum yet. Or, I saw in the paper this morning that there's an art exhibit –"

"I've had enough art and museums for the week," Shawn interrupted. "I spotted an arcade when I was walking around with Jules today. They have skeeball!"

"What about table hockey?"

"Of course!"

"Why didn't you say so sooner? Let's go."

It wasn't until later, when Shawn was stretched out in the chair in the hotel room, trying to sleep, (having been kicked out of the bed by Gus, who said that if he was paying for it, he was going to be the only one to enjoy it) that he had time to think about Lassiter again. Or Jerky Jerkface as Shawn preferred to think of him at the moment.

Who did Lassie think he was, trying to restrict his flirting right on the heels of saying that he wasn't interested in doing the horizontal tango with him again? He hadn't actually been planning on doing anything with Despereaux, particularly not with Gus around, but it was fun to fool around a little, and it didn't hurt anyone.

Except…Lassie had looked kind of hurt. Which, on him, translated into pissed off. Shawn sat bolt upright at the realization. He couldn't believe how stupid he was; he was going to blame it on the lust-addled hormones that seemed to overtake him when he was around Lassie lately.

Lassie was _jealous_.

It was why he had been angry about the flirting, and now that Shawn thought about it, it was why he had brought up Shawn having a girlfriend as a reason that he wouldn't sleep with Shawn again. It was so obvious that he was embarrassed that he hadn't picked up on it sooner.

If Lassiter was jealous, it must mean that he still wanted Shawn.

Shawn felt a thrill run through him at this realization, which he tried to quash by reminding himself that he had rules. Rules that he had already broken for Lassie, sure, but that was supposed to have been an exception, a time out from reality, not a complete shattering of the status quo.

From the bed, Shawn heard Gus snort in his sleep and roll over. The rules were there for a reason, he reminded himself, no matter how much his natural instinct was to rebel against them. Gus would be so hurt if he found out that Shawn had been keeping a secret of this magnitude, and that wasn't even taking into account what Henry's reaction would be.

Besides, this thing with Lassie, it was just a crush that had gotten out of control. Yeah, okay, they were clearly compatible when it came to sex. So what? Lassiter had made it clear that they were done, and Shawn was fine with that. More than fine. He totally and completely agreed that it was the right thing to do.

Lassie being jealous, Shawn wanting to jump him every time they were in the same room...those were just side effects of the night they had spent together. Those feelings would fade, and things would go back to normal.

At least, that's what Shawn hoped would happen.


	8. Chapter 8

Sleeping with Shawn Spencer had been a colossal mistake, Lassiter acknowledged to himself on the flight back to Santa Barbara. He should have realized that the relationship that the two of them shared was complicated enough without throwing sex into the mix. Well, it was impossible to change the past; all he could do was resolve to move on and act as professionally as possible around Spencer, a task that was difficult even without the issue of sexual tension.

Still, he liked to think that he was a man who learned from his mistakes, and this encounter with Spencer had been educational. He thought that it might be time for him to acknowledge that he was interested in pursuing something with another man. Before Spencer, his experience had been limited to a few clumsy, fumbling experiences in college, and a couple of drunken blow jobs in the months after Victoria had left him. The sex with Shawn had felt like a revelation; it only stood to reason that if he did it with someone who didn't irritate the crap out of him it might be even better, as difficult as that was to imagine.

Until he figured all of this out, he needed to find distractions. The night after he got back from Canada, he started trying to fill up his schedule. Golf with an attorney from the DA's office on Saturday morning, a meeting of the local chapter of the NRA on Wednesday night, a gathering of the Historical Society on Sunday.

It was the Historical Society meeting that proved to be the most interesting, due mainly to the guest speaker, a professor from the local college named Jonathan Striker. He had warm brown eyes and a nice smile and he spoke passionately and fluently about the history of Santa Barbara, and his smile seemed somehow to grow even warmer and more genuine when he looked at Lassiter.

After the lecture, Lassiter helped himself to the sugar cookies and punch provided by one of the grandmotherly types in the society and was about to leave when he felt a light touch on his arm.

"Excuse me, I don't think we've met. Jonathan Striker."

"Carlton Lassiter," he replied, shaking the other man's hand. "I enjoyed the lecture. You really know your stuff."

"I don't think I've seen you at one of these meetings before," Jonathan said. "I'm sure I would have noticed you."

"I don't get to come as often as I'd like," Lassiter explained. "Work keeps me pretty busy."

"Oh? What do you do?"

"I'm the Head Detective of the Santa Barbara Police Department," he said, and Jonathan's eyebrows lifted in interest.

"Really? I imagine that's fascinating work. Hey, would you be interested in grabbing a coffee with me sometime? I don't often get to meet fellow history enthusiasts."

It was on the tip of Lassiter's tongue to point out that they were in a room full of history enthusiasts, but he realized with a sudden jolt that he was being asked out on a date. He blinked in surprise and must have taken too long to respond, because Jonathan took a step back and quickly said "Don't worry about it, I understand if you don't have time..."

"No!" Lassiter protested, "I mean, yes, coffee would be nice sometime. Here," he pulled a business card out of his jacket pocket and handed it over, "call me this week and we'll set something up."

"Great!" Jonathan said enthusiastically, and he was about to say more, but a blue-haired octogenarian interrupted them to tell Jonathan about her great-grandfather's role in the Union army, and he allowed himself to be pulled away after promising Lassiter that he would call soon.

Which was how Lassiter found himself a few days later sitting at a table in an upscale, trendy coffee bar listening to Jonathan talk about a recent trip he had taken to Gettysburg. Maybe this could work. Sure, he didn't feel any kind of overwhelming sexual attraction, but that sort of thing came with time, didn't it? Yes, he had been attracted to Victoria from the day he met her, but he had been younger and less cautious with his emotions back then.

With Shawn there hadn't been an immediate attraction. Well...maybe that wasn't entirely true. From the first time he had pushed Shawn against a police car he had known there was a spark between them, one that had been ignited through equal parts fury and astonishment as Shawn solved the McCallum case in front of everybody. But that was an unusual circumstance, to say the least. He couldn't expect that kind of instant attraction for a man he was having an overpriced coffee drink with.

"I apologize, I'm monopolizing the conversation," Jonathan said with a smile. "Sometimes I can't help myself when I find a captive audience."

"It's a subject that I never tire of," Lassiter said honestly, though he couldn't remember a thing that Jonathan had just said.

"So, you said before that you're a cop?"

"Head Detective," Lassiter corrected automatically.

"That must be an exciting job."

Lassiter shrugged a little uncomfortably. "Sometimes. Mostly it's just a very demanding one."

"It's hot," Jonathan said frankly, and Lassiter blinked at him in surprise.

"It's really not. It means working a lot of late nights and weekends, and it's not a job I can always leave behind at the end of the day. It used to drive my wife crazy that I was always thinking about cases."

Jonathan smiled slightly. "I'm guessing that the fact that you're here on a date with me means that work wasn't the only problem with your marriage."

Lassiter opened his mouth to shoot down any discussion of his marriage, when, to his horror, he heard a familiar voice.

"No Gus, that can't be right! You're confused."

"I'm not confused, Shawn! Tomatoes are a fruit."

"_Tomatoes_, Gus, like you have on a delicious BLT. I don't know what you're thinking of. Pomegranates, maybe? Are you thinking of pomegranates, Gus? Or kiwis?"

"I'm thinking of tomatoes! Biologically speaking, they are a fruit."

"That can't be right, because I don't want to have a tomato flavored smoothie."

Please don't see me, Lassiter thought uselessly. He should have known better than to agree to a date in a frou frou little coffee bar, the likes of which he never normally patronized; it was exactly the kind of place Spencer and Guster would stop at for a snack.

"Lassie! What are you doing here? Didn't you once say that you would rather go to a Michael Moore film festival than be caught dead in a place like this?"

"Spencer, I'm busy," he said through gritted teeth. "Go away."

As expected, Shawn ignored him.

"Hi," he said, sticking his hand out for Jonathan to shake, "I'm Shawn Spencer, head psychic for the Santa Barbara Police Department, and this is my partner, Jellyfish Boom Boom Watson."

Looking bemused, Jonathan shook his hand and introduced himself.

"So, how do you know our esteemed head detective?" Shawn asked, watching Lassiter with narrowed eyes.

"None of your business," Lassiter started to say, but Shawn continued as if he hadn't been interrupted.

"Gun club? Nah. What do you think, Jellyfish?"

"Maybe he's a subscriber to Detective Lassiter's squirrel hater's newsletter," Gus suggested.

Shawn tilted his head thoughtfully. "I don't think so. Wait! I'm seeing...chalkboards! Desks! Dunce caps! Me, asleep in the last row! You shouldn't take that personally, by the way. I do my best learning while I'm asleep. Are you a teacher, Mr. Striker?"

"I teach American history at Santa Barbara Community College," Jonathan confirmed. "That was amazing! How did you know that?"

"Weren't you listening when I introduced myself? I AM psychic," Shawn replied. "So, do you know Lassie through the reenactments? Did he tell you about how I caught a murderer at one?"

"Nooo," Jonathan said, looking confused.

"Spencer. Leave. Now." Lassiter snapped.

"Shawn, I don't think we're wanted here," Gus said, sounding shocked.

"No, don't be silly. Of course we're wanted. We're the only rays of sunshine in Lassie's otherwise cloudy life, why wouldn't he want...why..." Shawn trailed off as realization finally struck about what it was that he was interrupting. Grabbing Lassiter by the arm, he pulled him to his feet, saying "Gus, why don't you tell Jonathan about that jellybean eating contest you won in the third grade? I'm having a vision that I have to share with Lassie right now, outside."

Lassiter followed without complaint, thinking that if he went along with Shawn now, maybe he could get rid of him.

Once they were outside, and out of sight of the table Jonathan and Gus were at, Shawn turned on him.

"What the hell are you doing? Is that...are you on a _date_ with that guy?"

"What's it to you if I am?" Lassiter countered. "Last I checked, you don't get a say in my personal life, Spencer."

"But Lassie, anyone could see you and figure it out. Hell, Gus is probably figuring it out right now."

"So?"

Shawn stared at him, flabbergasted. "But...you're a cop! You're all conservative and buttoned-up and repressed! How can you be okay with people knowing that you're dating a guy?"

"That's your issue, not mine Spencer. I don't flaunt my private life, but I'm not ashamed of it either."

"I'm not _ashamed_," Shawn stuttered, "I'm just…what if someone you work with sees you? What if Dobson were to walk in right now?"

"He would probably think that I'm having a cup of coffee with a friend, which is true. It's not like we're groping each other in public."

"There…there's groping?"

It was rather nice, Lassiter thought, to leave Shawn speechless for once, so instead of saying anything comforting about how it was only a first date and he doubted there would be any groping, he just smirked.

"I want to get back to my date now, and you're going to get Guster and leave." He turned and went back into the cafe, Shawn following closely behind him, his agitation so apparent that it was almost palpable.

"Sorry about that," he apologized to Jonathan as he sat back down.

"It was nice to meet you," Gus said to Jonathan. "Come on Shawn, I still want something to drink."

"Okay," Shawn said distractedly, and for a brief moment Lassiter thought the entire awkward episode was finally at an end, until suddenly Shawn clutched his head and moaned loudly, drawing the attention of the people at the surrounding tables.

"Oh, crap," Lassiter muttered.

"What's going on?" Jonathan asked, alarmed. "Should I call an ambulance?"

"He's having a vision," Lassiter said, his voice laden with sarcasm.

"You!" Shawn exclaimed, pointing at Jonathan, "I see you searching, searching, searching the world for the place you belong! I see...the Liberty Bell! Disney World! That mountain with the faces carved into it!"

"Mount Rushmore," Gus supplied helpfully.

"I'm sensing that you will find all of the happiness and success you crave in Boston, Jonathan Striker! I'm definitely sensing that a move to Boston as soon as possible would be in your best interest."

"Uh, Shawn, none of those places that you named are in Boston," Gus pointed out.

"I can't help how the spirits reveal themselves to me, you know that Gus."

"Well, if the spirits are done, we'll be leaving now," Gus said, taking Shawn by the sleeve and pulling him away from the table.

"What the hell was that?" Jonathan asked as he watched them leave.

"Don't worry about it," Lassiter sighed.

"Seriously, that was crazy. Is he really psychic?"

"Please tell me that you don't believe in crap like that."

"Not usually," Jonathan admitted, "but it was impressive how he knew I was a teacher."

"Let's not waste any more time on him," Lassiter said wearily.

"Oh," Jonathan said knowingly. "I get it. He's your ex."

"No! God, no. We've never dated."

"But he would like to."

"No. No. He just enjoys embarrassing me in public." Desperately, Lassiter cast about for an appropriate first date topic, anything to change the subject. "So, tell me more about yourself. What are your feelings on the second amendment?"

Gus waited until they were in the Blueberry before melting down. "Shawn, that was a date! Lassie was on a date with that guy! Did you know that he was gay?"

"Don't be Keanu Reeves's accent in _Dracula_, Gus. Of course I knew. However, I think the correct term is 'bicuriously slutty', not gay." He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth, knowing he sounded bitter.

"I don't think we have enough evidence to call him slutty," Gus said, frowning, "unless you know something that I don't."

"No," Shawn lied. "You know everything that I do. Hey, you pulled me out of there before I could get anything to eat, and I'm still hungry. Let's go to Dunkin Donuts."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"It happened so fast! You, like, yanked me out of there. You knew I wanted a muffin, dude. But now I want donuts."

"No, Shawn," Gus said, exasperated, "I mean about Lassiter. Why didn't you tell me he was gay, or bi, or whatever?"

"I didn't think it mattered," Shawn said, crossing his arms across his chest and looking out the window. "He's still the same old Lassie, right?"

"Yeah, I guess," Gus said. "Maybe if he gets laid, he'll chill out a little."

Shawn had no reply for that, as he was suddenly assaulted by an image of Lassiter pinning Jonathan to his mattress, fucking him slowly the way he had Shawn. Was this how Lassie had felt when he had heard that Shawn was dating Abigail? Or when he saw him flirting with Despereaux? Because it sucked. It really, really sucked.

Gus, oblivious to Shawn's distress, did not start the car and point it towards Dunkin Donuts and the sugar rush Shawn so desperately needed, but instead kept talking. "So, what did you take him outside to talk about? And what was all that stuff about Boston?"

"I just don't trust that guy. I mean, Jonathan Striker? What comic book did he get that name out of? I don't want Lassie to have his heart broken by some tweed wearing supervillain."

Gus snorted and, much to Shawn's relief, finally started the car. "He wasn't wearing tweed, Shawn. And since when do you care about Lassie's heart?"

"He's a professor, you know he has to have a closet full of those tweed jackets with the little elbow patches. And as for Lassie, what do you think having his heart broken would do for his crankiness levels? I'm looking out for all of us, Gus."

"Good point," Gus agreed, and Shawn started a purposely rambling monologue about whether he should have a banana cream donut or a lemon cream donut and resolutely attempted not to think about Lassiter and his history professor hottie.


	9. Chapter 9

_Author's Note: Includes references to the events of the episode "He Dead", as well as references to "Murder by Something Something"._

Shawn tried to cover his yawn so that his dad wouldn't see or hear it and stared blearily at the wall he was painting. He hadn't gotten much sleep over the last couple of days, as he had been busy staking out one Professor Jonathan Striker. It was for Lassie's own good, he reasoned; Lassie was susceptible to flattery, and it wouldn't do to have him fall for some sort of sleazy academic lothario who had complimented his eyes or his shoulders or his Union army costume.

And while Shawn could hardly fault Professor Stupidhead for falling for Lassiter's manly sternum bush or commanding cop voice or encyclopedic knowledge of Clint Eastwood movies, that didn't mean he should step aside and let him ruin Lassiter's life. Because that was totally going to happen. Shawn was certain that he was not at all irrational about this.

So far, all he'd found out was that Striker was a moderately well-liked professor on the local campus. Tough but fair, blah blah blah, and to Shawn's disappointment, he apparently didn't seduce co-eds or take bribes for grades, discoveries which frankly seemed highly unlikely. What kind of college professor was he? It was at times like this that he wondered if his lack of real world experience in college might be impairing his judgment, since most of his knowledge of professors came from episodes set during the college years of _90210_ and _One Tree Hill_.

After his research turned up nothing, he had followed Professor Stinkybreath home, a modest two-story in a middle class cul-de-sac. It seemed like a lot of house for one person, but Shawn could see no evidence that he had a secret spouse, or secret children, or even a secret dog. After talking to the neighbors (introducing himself as Oscar O. Otterbaron, part of a committee that was giving Striker a Good Citizenship award), he learned that his quarry was quiet, polite, mowed his grass in a timely manner, and mostly kept to himself.

So, obviously, he was a serial killer, Shawn decided. He checked the house out for any unlocked windows or doors, so that he could rescue whatever victims Striker was clearly keeping in his basement, but found no easy way in, and spying a sticker from a security company in the window made him hesitate to break in.

That meant that his next step needed to be to follow the professor and Lassiter on their second date, to the historical society museum, a choice Shawn heartily approved of: no one was getting laid after spending the afternoon reading informational plaques and looking at dusty old antiques.

Still, they stood worryingly close to one another, and more than once Lassiter laughed at something Professor Suckington said. Shawn resented every one of those laughs; usually it was like pulling teeth to get Lassie to acknowledge a joke.

After the museum, he watched Lassiter and Striker eat dinner, hoping a baseball cap and his sunglasses were enough of a disguise. Fortunately, the two men were seated at the patio, so Shawn was easily able to keep an eye on them while sitting at a bus stop across the street. He had been frowning over how Lassiter was allowing Jonathan to hand him a roll from the bread basket - wasn't Lassie at all worried about poison? Or at least germs? - when his phone rang, and he automatically answered it.

"Shawn! Where are you?" Gus sounded agitated. Shawn had a bad feeling about this. "I'm, uh...where are you?" he asked, defensively.

"I'm at the office. You know, where we agreed to meet before going to the movies? I want popcorn, Shawn. AND raisinets. I planned my whole day around this, and unless you get here in the next three minutes, we're going to miss the trailers, so you better be on your way."

"Uh," Shawn said, "I'm sorry Gus, I forgot about the movie. I'm, uh, following a suspect."

In the restaurant across the street, Jonathan leaned forward, speaking animatedly, and laid a hand on Lassiter's arm. Shawn could feel his eyes narrowing in fury.

"A _suspect_?" Gus yelled, and Shawn pulled the phone away from his ear, wincing. "Did you take a case without me?"

"No!" Shawn said hurriedly. "I mean...yes. Wait, no! It's not a case. It's just a favor for a friend."

"What friend?" Gus asked suspiciously.

The waiter brought the check, and Lassiter and Jonathan both reached for it, Lassiter ultimately winning. Good, Shawn thought, Lassie wouldn't be expected to put out because Professor Shithead bought him dinner.

"Shawn?" Gus asked, "what friend?"

"You don't know him," Shawn said.

"Who do you know that I don't know?"

Having paid, Lassiter and Jonathan were headed for the door. Shawn was going to have to get on his bike if he wanted to continue to follow them.

"I'm sorry buddy," he said to Gus, "I think my battery is about to die. I'll call you la-" he hung up in mid-word, to make his dead battery story more believable, not that Gus would actually believe it. After he was done stalking Lassiter for the night, he was going to have to come up with a good cover story for Gus.

To his horror, when Lassiter drove Striker home, Striker leaned across the front seat and kissed Lassie, making Shawn's stomach twist into knots. Afterwards, Striker said something, and Lassiter shook his head in response, and some of Shawn's tension eased a little as Striker walked to his front door alone and Lassiter drove away.

Shawn would not, after all, want Lassiter to go into what was obviously a crazed serial killer's den without proper warning.

He should have been checking up on them again today, but instead he was at his dad's house, painting. Shawn wasn't certain how Henry had convinced him to come over to the house and help him paint the kitchen; it probably had something to do with the way Henry had bailed him and Gus out of a Canadian jail, and therefore Shawn owed him a favor, but he was hazy on when he had agreed to spend his Saturday afternoon trapped in one room with his father, and now he was paying the price: slow death by a thousand tiny criticisms.

It had started the minute he had walked in the door. "Is that a new shirt, Shawn? Why would you wear a new shirt to paint in?" (it wasn't a new shirt, merely a clean one), and since then he had been chided for the way held a paintbrush, the way he stood on a ladder, how he had positioned the dropcloth, and a dozen other things that he had already forgotten.

He wondered if it was possible to actually die from too much criticism. He pictured the headline in the newspaper: _"Local Psychic Detective Dies After Prolonged Exposure to Nagging"_. The accompanying story would read _"Best friend Bruton Gaster was unavailable for comment, as he was crying too hard to speak, but grieving father Henry Spencer told reporters "Trust Shawn to pick the stupidest way to die possible". Head Detective Carlton Lassiter said that no charges were being filed, as "the victim had it coming". When asked if he had any comment about Mr. Spencer, who solved dozens of cases for the SBPD, Detective Lassiter replied that he was too busy making out with Professor Sexypants to waste any more time on "that fraud Spencer"_.

"Shawn!" Henry barked, "what are you thinking about? You've been painting that same spot for the past five minutes!"

"Just picturing my obituary," Shawn said glumly.

"What? What's going on with you today, kid? You seem down."

"Nothing's going on," Shawn said. "I guess I'm a little bored because Gus and I haven't had a case since Canada."

"You got into enough trouble in Canada to last you for a month," Henry sniffed.

"Thanks, dad, you always know just what to say."

"So what have you been up to? Are you still seeing that girl, the one you knew from high school?"

"Nah, that didn't work out."

"I should have known," Henry said. "You can't stick with anything, even a pretty girl."

"Actually, she dumped me, but I appreciate your concern," Shawn sniped.

There was a moment of silence before Henry said "I'm sorry, kid. I know you really liked her."

Maybe it was the note of honest concern in Henry's voice, but Shawn found himself doing the thing he had promised himself he would never, ever do (except for in emergencies): asking for his dad's advice about something other than a case.

"It's okay. She was right, it wasn't going to work. Hey, Dad, what do you do when you…" he hesitated, not sure how to phrase his question, "when you can't stop thinking about someone, but you know it wouldn't work out?"

"Why wouldn't it work out?" Henry asked.

"Lots of reasons," Shawn said evasively. "Like, for example, right now this person is seeing someone else."

"Oh," Henry said, pleased, "did you finally find someone that you can't charm into sleeping with you? Is that why this girl is so fascinating to you?"

"No," Shawn huffed, annoyed, "If you must know, we've already slept together."

"And you're still interested?" Henry asked, raising an eyebrow. "She must be quite a catch."

"It's good to know what your opinion of me is. Wait, no, I mean the opposite of that. Just forget I brought it up, okay?"

"Calm down Shawn, I was just teasing you. So, what's the problem? Is she playing hard to get or is she genuinely more interested in the guy she's dating?"

Shawn frowned at the wall he was painting, unsure of how to answer. "I don't think this person is into game playing," he said finally.

"Well," Henry said, "maybe that's your problem. Maybe she doesn't see you as being serious enough for her."

Shawn considered this. "Maybe," he agreed reluctantly. "This is someone who spends too much time being serious."

"Or," Henry continued, "maybe she likes this other guy more than she likes you."

"No," Shawn said automatically, "it can't be that. I mean, yeah, they have some things in common," he said, thinking about their shared interest in history, "but we have things in common too. Better things. Important things!" After all, he and Lassie solved crime together! They put bad guys in prison together! Sure, maybe Lassiter didn't always necessarily think of that as something they did "together", since he tried more often than not to keep Shawn away from cases, but it still counted as a shared interest. A sexy, sexy shared interest. Way sexier than things that happened hundreds of years ago.

"Don't think I didn't notice how you avoided using any names or pronouns," Henry said. "Are you finally going to make an honest man of Gus?"

Shawn froze, replaying his dad's words in his head. He didn't even realize he had dropped his paintbrush until Henry yelled "Shawn, you're making a mess!" He ignored that, crossing his arms tightly around his chest as he turned to face his dad.

"What did you mean by that?" he demanded. "About me and Gus?"

Henry snorted. "Please Shawn, the two of you have been practically married since you were eight years old. Do you really think I would be shocked if you made it official?"

Shawn was so flummoxed that he didn't even know where to start. "Gus isn't...I mean, I'm not..."

"Oh, come on, kid. When you were sixteen you had a poster of Claudia Schiffer on one wall and a poster of Val Kilmer on the other wall, and it was a toss-up which one of them I caught you staring at more."

"Wait," Shawn said weakly, "you mean you've always..." he couldn't finish, the very idea that his most closely guarded secret had never been a secret from his dad leaving him too stunned to speak.

"Known that you were interested in guys?" Henry asked with a grimace. "Of course I have. When are you going to learn that you can't keep anything from me?"

"Never, probably," Shawn said faintly, then latched onto an emotion that he was more accustomed to feeling when dealing with Henry. "Don't pretend that you're okay with this. I saw the expression on your face just now."

"At least I'm trying," Henry snapped. "It's not like you've ever shared this part of your life with me."

"Fair enough," Shawn agreed cautiously. "Look, Dad, you can't say anything about this in front of Gus. He doesn't know."

Finally, he had said something that surprised Henry. "What? What are you talking about? I assumed you and Gus...he's the only person you've ever trusted."

Trying to sound as light as possible, Shawn said "Gus is straighter than uncooked spaghetti. And even if he wasn't, don't you think he could do better than me?"

"So, this is about some other guy? And Gus doesn't know anything about it?"

"Yep," Shawn confirmed, turning away so that Henry wouldn't be able to read anything in his expression.

"Shawn," Henry started to say gently, but Shawn interrupted him.

"I think that's all the father-son bonding I can handle for one day. I'm gonna take off." He paused at the door, chancing a glance over his shoulder to see Henry watching him with a worried expression. "Thanks, Dad," he said softly, and left before Henry could say anything in response. Outside, he paused at his bike, feeling like he had been sucker-punched. Twenty years of keeping a secret from his dad that had never been a secret at all. Jesus.

**

Lassiter eyed the site of the plane crash with a sense of irritation. Of course Spencer and Guster had found the downed plane first. Not only that, but they claimed that Warren Clayton had still been alive when they found him, and that he had indicated that his death had been a murder.

Why couldn't he ever be the one to stumble over a dying billionaire and hear his last words? He was Head Detective, for god's sake.

He was further annoyed when later, at the station, Shawn finagled his way into working for the widow. So annoyed, in fact, that he couldn't stop talking about it that night on his date with Jonathan.

They were eating dinner at the Italian restaurant that O'Hara liked so much, Mario's. Lassiter had only been twenty minutes late - not bad in his line of work - but Jonathan had seemed slightly annoyed by the tardiness, though it had disappeared as Lassiter explained that he was investigating the Clayton plane crash, which had been all over the news for the better part of the day.

"He charms his way into anything he wants! He took what should be a legitimate police investigation and turned it into an opportunity to fraternize with the Clayton family."

Jonathan looked confused. "If he's that much of an opportunist, then why is he allowed to interfere in police work at all?"

"He solves cases," Lassiter admitted grudgingly. "He'll probably figure out what caused Clayton's plane to crash before the first course is served and have his picture in the paper in the morning."

"He really gets under your skin," Jonathan observed, and Lassiter frowned at his chicken marsala.

"Sorry, it's hard to stop thinking about work sometimes." Lassiter said, thinking about how, in the last year of their marriage, Victoria had grown increasingly weary of hearing him always talk about work.

"No," Jonathan said, "I think your work is fascinating. But you need to relax more. Take a night off from the job. How about tomorrow night, you come over to my place for dinner?" He smiled warmly at Lassiter. "Maybe we could find a way to relieve some of your stress."

Lassiter hastily closed his mouth, which had dropped open during this invitation. "I...uh...sure. That would be nice," he said feebly, ignoring the part of his brain that was screaming out 'SEX! He's inviting you over for SEX!'

"I can't make any promises, though," he added quickly. "I might get tied up at work tomorrow night. It all depends on what happens with this case."

"That's fine," Jonathan assured him, "We'll play it by ear."

Later, in the semi-dark parking lot of the restaurant, Lassiter hesitantly kissed Jonathan goodnight, and tried to convince himself that he wanted more. Told himself that tomorrow night at this time, they could be...well. Getting to know one another even better. He was certain that when the time came, he would be more excited about it. Things seemed to be going better with Jonathan than they had with any woman he had dated in the past few years, he reminded himself. This had been a good idea. A great idea, even. And if he felt apprehensive or uncertain, well, that was natural.

He was gratified the next day to realize that Spencer had been fired by Warren Clayton's widow after only one night of work, and that he was trying to ingratiate himself back into the Chief's good graces by complimenting her...teeth. Huh.

However, it was probably a mistake to call Spencer an "obnoxious little twerp" in front of Chief Vick, because in retaliation Shawn made a reference to "backbiting...and frontbiting", with a quick leer in Lassiter's direction, and he felt himself flush all over at the memory of biting and kissing his way down Shawn's chest.

After the meeting in the Chief's office was concluded, Lassiter had thought Spencer would be leaving, to pursue his investigation, or the spirits, or possibly a frappucino, but instead Shawn followed him, dropping into a chair next to Lassiter's desk and pulling out his phone.

"What the hell are you doing, Spencer?" Lassiter asked wearily.

"Texting Gus to tell him to pick me up."

"Well, you can't stay there. Go outside and wait for him."

"No can do, Lassie. I might freckle if I sit out in the sun!" Shawn protested, not moving from his seat.

Lassiter sighed but didn't press the issue; with Shawn, it was always a matter of knowing when to pick his battles. He pulled up his notes on the Warren case on his computer and started adding the information he had received that morning.

"Where's Jules?"

"She had to testify in a court case this morning," he replied, not looking up.

"So, how are things going with your supervillain boyfriend?"

"I'm not going to discuss my personal life with you, Spencer. And he's not a supervillain."

"That's what they all say. Don't come crying to me when he tries to destroy the world."

Lassiter didn't reply, refusing to engage Shawn on the subject of Jonathan.

"So, you really think it was just an accident?" Shawn asked, nodding to the file in front of Lassiter.

"The evidence indicates that it was."

"Pffft. Evidence, shmevidence. Warren Clayton told me he had been murdered. His dying words were to find his killer!"

"He had lost a lot of blood and he was in shock. It's possible he didn't know what he was saying. Or, maybe he did think that someone else was responsible for the crash, but that doesn't mean he was right."

"Hey Lassie, what do you think your last words will be?"

"Telling O'Hara to avenge my death," Lassiter replied immediately. "What about you?"

"I'm going to make Gus promise to carry my ashes around with him everywhere he goes for the rest of his life."

"Everywhere?"

"_Everywhere_."

Lassiter considered this for a moment, then went back to typing his notes. Spencer, for once, was quiet, tapping out something on his phone.

"Do you ever think about Claire?" Shawn asked abruptly, sounding deceptively casual."All this talking about last words, it makes me think of her and how she she didn't get the chance for...anyway, do you ever think about her?" He didn't look up at Lassiter, just continued to play with his phone.

"Sometimes," Lassiter said, surprised that Shawn had even brought it up. "My biggest regret about that night is that I couldn't figure out a way to save her."

"I've gone over it a thousand times in my head," Shawn said. "If we had stopped him sooner, before he started down the stairs with her…"

"I know," Lassiter said. "I've thought about it too. It was my fault. I should have taken my chances while he was still close enough to shoot."

Shawn did look up at him now. "Lassie, there was nothing you could have done. The way he was holding Claire, there was no way to make the shot, and he was watching you like a hawk in case you tried something. I'm the one who should have tried, I could have jumped him while his attention was focused on you."

Lassiter shook his head. "You can't think like that, Spencer. He had a gun to her head. There was no good opportunity."

"But if –"

Unexpectedly, Lassiter reached over and put a hand on his knee. "It all happened too fast, Shawn. You couldn't have saved her."

Feeling a warm flush of pleasure go through him at Lassiter's touch, Shawn willed himself to sit perfectly still and not ruin the moment, but his resolved crumbled at the sound of Gus's voice.

"Shawn, are you ready to go? I need to hit a few more stops on my route this afternoon."

Lassiter hastily removed his hand as Gus came up to the desk, and Shawn stood up.

"Didn't you just go on your route last week, Gus? Shouldn't you give them a chance to miss you?" he asked, proud of the fact that his voice didn't betray how keyed up he felt from Lassie's touch.

"You do understand how having a job works, right Shawn?' Gus asked rhetorically.

"I've often wondered that myself," Lassiter muttered under his breath.

"Fine," Shawn huffed in annoyance. "But we have some detective work to do before you go. Psychic detective work," he added, glancing over at Lassiter.

"I assume that means you'll spend the afternoon playing video games, with a time-out for watching some terrible eighties movie," Lassiter said.

"It's a process," Shawn said haughtily.

"A delicate process," Gus added. "We'll also need Skittles."

"Agreed. Bye, Lassie!" Shawn said as he started to follow Gus out of the station. He paused after he had taken a couple of steps and turned around, opening his mouth like he was going to say something else, then closing it again as he looked at Lassiter with a puzzled expression, like he couldn't figure out what he was doing. Lassiter sympathized; he didn't know what they were doing either.

"Shawn!"

"Coming Gus!" Shawn called, and fled.

Hours later, Lassiter was on his way to Jonathan's house, feeling distinctly uneasy. He didn't like doing things by half measures; he had jumped feet first into dating again - dating a man, no less - and he would be disappointed in himself if he didn't at least make an effort to see it through. How could he know if it would or wouldn't work with Jonathan if he didn't at least try?

But. At the same time. He had felt more of a sexual charge that afternoon simply from touching Shawn's leg in the middle of the crowded police station than he had kissing Jonathan in a dark parking lot the night before. He still wasn't certain exactly what had compelled him to touch Shawn like that, except that he had looked uncharacteristically guilty over the memory of Claire's death. He had wanted nothing more in that moment but to wipe that anxious, unhappy expression off Shawn's face. It had worked, too: Shawn's expression had gone from sadness to shock to a kind of focused intensity that made Lassiter's toes curl.

He was stopped at a traffic light when his phone rang. It was Guster on the other end, telling him that he and Shawn had a suspect in the Clayton case, and that they needed Lassiter and O'Hara to meet them at a local hotel to question him. He told Guster he would be there shortly, then called Jonathan to cancel their plans for the evening.

"Spencer again," Jonathan said, when Lassiter explained the situation, and even over the phone his irritation was clear.

"Yeah," Lassiter said shortly. "Look, I've got to go. I need to get there before Spencer and Guster get into trouble." He hung up quickly, before Jonathan could say anything else.

Yeah, this wasn't going to work.


	10. Chapter 10

"I'm sorry," Lassiter said awkwardly, "but I don't think this is going to work out. My job..."

It was the day after the Clayton case had been wrapped up, and Lassiter had asked Jonathan to meet him for coffee, knowing that it was time to end his latest ill-advised attempt at a relationship.

"Is this because I was kind of an ass when you called to cancel earlier?" Jonathan asked sheepishly. "I'm sorry, I really do understand that your work requires you to be on call all the time. At the college, I'm known as the mean professor who requires punctuality, and sometimes that bleeds over into my personal life without me meaning for it too."

"No," Lassiter said, "it's not really about that. I just realized that I'm not in a place right now where I'm ready to start a relationship." He extended his hand with the intention of shaking Jonathan's hand, wishing him luck, and leaving before this became any more uncomfortable than it already was, but Jonathan responded by crossing his arms and regarding him curiously.

"Is this about your little psychic friend?"

"He's not psychic. And he's not exactly my friend. Why would you ask that? Spencer has nothing to do with this."

"Right," Jonathan said doubtfully.

"Look," Lassiter said irritably, "we've barely been on three dates. It's just not going to work, okay? I don't owe you any explanations."

Jonathan laughed. "The fact that you're so annoyed over me asking about him answers all my questions. You're right, you don't owe me anything. You're a good guy, Carlton. I hope you figure things out with Mr. Spencer soon."

"There's nothing to figure out," Lassiter grumbled, and Jonathan shook his head in amusement.

"If you say so. If you change your mind, give me a call. I'd still be happy to help you relieve some of that tension," he said with a wink as he stood to leave, and was rewarded with Carlton's flustered look.

Outside, Jonathan started towards his car only to nearly run into someone wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses.

"Sorry," he started to apologize, then stopped as he realized who he had nearly run into. "Mr. Spencer?"

"Ahh," Shawn said, scrambling for words, "Doctor Spinderella, how nice to see you again."

"It's Professor Striker," Jonathan corrected. "Are you...were you following me and Carlton?"

"Shyeah, as if that wouldn't be a total yawn," Shawn said cagily, wondering if it would be suspicious if he were to turn and run the other way before Jonathan asked him anything else, or, worse, before Lassiter came out and saw him.

"Well," Jonathan said, "you might be interested to know that Carlton just ended things between us, so he's all yours."

"All mine? Right, like I would want...I mean, he doesn't match anything I have in my apartment. You're crazy if you think I would want anything to do with Lassie. He's all grumpy and...tall...and stuff."

"I'm beginning to think that you two deserve each other," Jonathan said. "Good luck with that."

With a little wave, he got into his car and left. Shawn glanced inside the cafe long enough to see Lassie tossing his coffee cup into the trash and coming towards the door, and made a hasty departure before he could be caught.

When Lassiter got the call from Hank about the troubles at Old Sonora, his first instinct was to investigate the case himself, but he was stymied by the fact that he had no jurisdiction outside of Santa Barbara. For the first time, he could see the advantage that Spencer and Guster had in working outside the system.

Once he realized that he wasn't going to be able to work on the case himself, there was really no question that he would call in Psych. While he would rather cut his tongue out than admit it, Shawn was the best detective he knew, and Hank deserved the best. Swallowing his pride, he called Spencer to ask for help.

"Lassie! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I need for you to go somewhere with me tomorrow," Lassiter said without any preamble.

There was the tiniest pause before Shawn replied. "Sure! Should I bring the strawberry flavored lube, or do you have that covered?"

"That's not...I don't...bring Guster!"

"Aww, Lassie, I understand how you could be drawn to his chocolate velvety goodness, but as I've already explained, he wouldn't be interested. I, on the other hand..."

"Spencer!" he shouted in agitation, "just meet me at 9:00 in the morning at the Psych office. With Guster. I'll explain everything tomorrow."

"Okay," Shawn said, sounding amused. "You should know that tomorrow is usually my spa day, so you're obligated to give me a massage and a mani pedi to thank me for my time."

Lassiter scowled at the phone. "9:00. Don't be late," he said, and hung up.

It took Shawn and Gus a little longer to wrap up the case than Lassiter would have liked, but in the end they did solve it, just as they always did, and nearly got buried alive in a mine shaft for their trouble. Lassiter added it to his mental tally of Shawn's brushes with death over the past year. It was a disturbingly long list.

He should have felt happy once the case was over; Hank had not only been acquitted, he was going to be rich, Shawn and Gus were safe, and the perpetrator had been apprehended. But all he could think about was how he had arrested Hank, the man who had been like a father to him for most of his life.

After Hank went off to see about his lady, and Spencer and Guster disappeared to parts unknown, Lassiter ducked into the Old Sonora sheriff's office where he had spent so much time as a child, learning about the history of the West and hero-worshipping Hank. He sat down on the bunk in the tiny cell, tipping his head back against the wall and closing his eyes. He was going to miss this place. More than that, he was going to miss Hank. He couldn't imagine that their relationship would ever be the same after this.

When he heard the jingle of spurs as someone joined him in the cell, he assumed it was Hank, but when he opened his eyes Shawn was standing over him, once again wearing the sheriff's costume.

"Whatcha doin', Lassie?" he asked, concerned. He had been looking for Gus, but as he walked past the sheriff's office he had seen Lassiter sitting alone, looking far more depressed than he normally did after he discharged his weapon.

"Go away, Spencer," Lassiter said, but there was none of the usual heat behind it.

"What's wrong?" Shawn asked, confused. "You got to have a genuine Old West showdown - which you won, and which was also incredibly hot, by the way - and cleared Hank's good name in the process! Not bad for an afternoon's work."

Lassiter sighed. "For once, can't you just do what I ask and leave me in peace?"

"Nope," Shawn said cheerfully, leaning against the bars of the cell. "Not until you tell me what's bothering you."

"Right now, you're what's bothering me," Lassiter snapped, sounding aggrieved. "We're not buddies, so leave me the hell...why are you wearing that ridiculous outfit again?"

Offended, Shawn looked down at his supercool, not-at-all-ridiculous sheriff's costume. "My regular clothes were disgusting because of how Stinky Feet tried to bury me and Gus in the mine. I still had these clothes in Gus's car, so..."

"Bury you in a mine shaft," Lassiter muttered, shaking his head. "Good God."

Shawn sat down next to him on the bunk and gave him a friendly pat on the knee. "Come on pardner, tell Sheriff Shawn your troubles."

Lassiter didn't say anything, but Shawn could feel him practically vibrating with repressed unhappiness. Finally, he burst. "I arrested Hank! For murder! How could I do that, when he's been..." he trailed off miserably. "Forget it, Spencer. You wouldn't understand."

"Lassie, you were following the evidence," Shawn said gently. "There wasn't anything else you could do."

"I could have trusted him," Lassiter said bitterly.

"Hey, even I, with my super psychic senses, didn't know who the real culprit was until today."

"Would you have done it?" Lassiter asked. "Arrested him, I mean?"

"Uh, I'm not a cop Lassie, so it's not a decision I would ever have to make."

"No shit," Lassiter said, giving him an exasperated look. "Just answer the question."

Shawn shrugged. "I don't know, okay? The evidence compelled you to make the arrest, and if you hadn't done it, someone else would have. I knew he didn't do it, but I couldn't prove it yet. So I don't know what I would have done."

"How did you know that he didn't do it? And don't you dare try to tell me that you knew it psychically."

"Don't discount my amazing powers, Lassie! But if I were just an ordinary shmoe like you, I would say that it was instinct. Hank might kill to protect someone he loves, but he's not the type of guy to murder for money." He nudged Lassiter lightly with his shoulder. "You should trust your instincts more, instead of letting yourself be swayed by crap like circumstantial evidence."

Lassiter frowned, looking down at his hands. "I don't know if I trust my instincts at all anymore," he admitted, and Shawn sighed in frustration.

"You have perfectly good instincts, Lass. You just don't believe in them the way you should."

"Sometimes, instincts can be wrong," Lassiter argued. "Evidence is factual. Even in this case, the evidence eventually cleared Hank and pointed to the real culprit."

"Sure," Shawn agreed, "but if you had trusted your instincts over the evidence, you would never have believed for a second that Hank could have been guilty. Another example," Shawn continued blithely, "would be that if I only believed in evidence, I might think that you don't want to sleep with me again, but my instincts tell me differently."

Lassiter stood up, fast. "See, I would consider that to be proof that evidence is incontrovertible," he said stiffly.

Shawn followed him, noticing the way Lassiter's eyes moved over his Sheriff's uniform. Gotcha, he thought gleefully. He should have realized sooner that with his interest in historical reenactments and undercover work, Lassie would be a pushover for a little role-playing.

"Really?" Shawn asked, stepping closer, which forced Lassiter to retreat until his back was against the bars of the cell, "because my eighth sense is telling me that you think Sheriff Shawn is hot stuff."

Lassiter's brow furrowed in confusion. "Don't you mean your sixth sense?"

Shawn leaned forward, grabbing the bars on either side of Lassiter's head, effectively pinning him in. "I'm counting my fashion sense and my sense of direction."

"What the hell are you doing? I thought we had an agreement," Lassiter said, though Shawn couldn't help but notice that he made absolutely no move to get away.

"We're not in Santa Barbara right now," he pointed out. "And as Sheriff, it's my job to question a suspicious varmint in my jail," he said in his old-timey Western accent.

"Spencer..." Lassiter said threateningly, but Shawn didn't miss the way his eyes had dilated or the way he was breathing a little faster.

"I been noticing the way you've been watching me since you came into town," Shawn said in his twangy accent. "It makes me think you're up to no good. You understand that as Sheriff of this here town, I have to be clear about your intentions."

"Shawn..." Lassiter tried, and this time his tone was slightly pleading. Shawn was pressed up against him now, and he could feel Lassiter getting hard.

"Hey, look at that," he said softly, so close that his lips brushed against Lassiter's mouth as he spoke. "Evidence."

At the same time as he felt Lassiter's hand light on the back of his neck to pull him the fraction of an inch in for a kiss, he heard Juliet say "Carlton? Are you in here?"

Shawn hastily let go of the bars and stepped away from Lassiter. "Yeah Jules, Binky's in here," he called out, since Lassiter seemed momentarily incapable of speech.

"Oh," Juliet said, as she came into the jail, "what are you two doing in there?"

"We were playing a naughty game of Sheriff and outlaw," Shawn said honestly, and was grateful that the room was dim enough that Juliet couldn't see that Lassiter was blushing. "You wanna join us, Jules? You can be my lusty deputy."

"Shawn!" Juliet scolded, her tone somewhere between amused and scandalized, while at the same time Lassiter snapped "Spencer!"

"Your loss. You both know you're totally going to regret not taking me up on it later." He strolled past Juliet, as she told Lassiter that Chief Vick wanted them back in Santa Barbara to give their statements about the shooting.

He needed to find Gus, but he paused outside around the corner from the jail to give his heart rate a chance to get back to normal. Oh god, what had he just done? That was beyond Impulsiveville and straight into Recklesstown. Only…he had been able to erase the sad, forlorn look off of Lassie's face, and it had felt so fucking _good_.

Henry had told him that he was too emotionally invested in this case because of Lassiter's involvement, a remark so insightful that he had briefly wondered if his dad knew who the object of his interest was after all, but it wasn't until he had seen Lassie sitting alone in that jail cell, looking like he had just lost everything in the world that mattered to him, that he realized just how far gone he really was. What the hell was wrong with him?

***

Lassiter tapped his fingers furiously on the steering wheel, frustration radiating from every pore. He wasn't sure how things had gotten so out of control with Spencer; one minute they seemed to be having a perfectly civil, even friendly, conversation, and the next Shawn had him trapped and turned on and right on the verge of doing something that he promised himself he wouldn't do again.

"Carlton, is something wrong? Are you worried about justifying the shooting? Because he was about to pull on you, I'll testify to that. And he's going to be fine, you just winged his shoulder."

"Thanks, O'Hara," he said. He felt a little guilty for letting her assume that he was worried about the consequences of shooting a suspect, but it was better than telling her the truth.

Would it be so wrong to give in to what Spencer was offering? He had a divorce under his belt, a series of dates that ultimately led nowhere, and a career that demanded a great deal of his time and attention. Maybe a friends-with-benefits situation was the way to go (not that he would characterize Shawn as a friend). He and Lucinda had shared a relationship of that type, though they had never had any of the antagonism between them that characterized so much of his interaction with Spencer. Lucinda was someone he could see himself sharing a future with, even as he'd been hoping the whole time to get Victoria back.

He could see now how unfair to Lucinda he'd been, sleeping with her while still thinking he and Victoria would reconcile, keeping her as a sort of back-up in case things with his wife didn't work out. No wonder she'd taken off as soon as the relationship was outed. Which was Spencer's fault, he reminded himself.

Clearly, he was terrible at relationships. He was too weird, too paranoid, too much of a workaholic. What civilians like Victoria and Jonathan didn't understand was that he WAS his work. He didn't clock out at the end of the day and stop thinking about cases. One of Spencer's better qualities was that in his own way, he was as much about the work as Lassiter was. Sure, Shawn's way included lots of diversions, but Lassiter had figured out a long time ago that whatever ridiculousness he was up to, Shawn's brain was always working.

Maybe if Spencer tried to instigate something again, he would do exactly what he wanted to do and give in. He could burn off a little frustration, and since Spencer would be even more determined than Lassiter to keep it discreet, it shouldn't affect their professional relationship (assuming anything Spencer did could be considered "discreet" or "professional").

He could do that. He could be a free-wheeling casual sex kind of guy. Spencer apparently could be that way, and anything Spencer could do, Lassiter could do too, right?


End file.
